Blast from the Past
by Calliecature
Summary: Post-war, 1945. After finding out he's adopted AND a toon, Roger sets out to ToonTown to find his parents. With more than literal baggage. Set before the movie.
1. Prologue 1

**Prologue 1:** Someone From Before, Ma Cheri Amour

BOOM!

"Aaand cut! That was perfect!"

Baby Herman came out of the billowing smoke, coughing. "If I get another bomb blown up in my face one more time…!"

"Jeepers, Baby Herman, it's more rousing than a cup of coffee!" A silhouette of a rabbit followed after him in the smoke. Roger broke out from the cloud, covered in ash. "It's like an exploding epiphany! A kindling kaboom! A-"

"Dangerous explosive that can burn off your fur like last time."

Roger twisted around at the voice. A damp towel suddenly blanketed his vision. Fumbling with it, he finally lifted the towel, peek-a-boo style. "Jessica! You're still here!"

His friend shrugged her bare shoulders.

The rabbit bounced into a chair and began to rub himself with a towel. He could have just shaken off the ashes but Jessica was a thoughtful girl. Sometimes he wondered why people often looked surprised by the fact. "Thanks _th_!" he said.

Jessica leaned back on the table beside him silently, watching his rigorous rigmarole. She suddenly dusted off the ash on the red tuft of his hair.

"Heeeey!" Roger protested, ducking from her hand with a grin. "What am I? A dog?" He suddenly jumped on the table and crouched down on all fours. "Woof!" Rabbit ears folded into dog ears as his cottontail began to wag excitedly.

"Roger…" she said warningly. Jessica should never have told him she doesn't like laughing out loud in public. It caused more people to stare. Since then, little games like this would occur between them.

Her friend made a sad puppy face. His "dog" ears drooped down like a chastised canine. He sat in his haunches with a wounded whimper. Jessica crossed her arms in front of her, her face a stoic stone.

But for some reason, Roger always seemed to know otherwise. One ear cocked at her expression. _Crap._ Now he's not going to stop. "Woof!" His wagging tail caught his attention and he chased it around in circles.

Her lips pressed harder into a grimmer line. He was really milking the joke.

"Oof!" A crash followed as he fell off the table.

Jessica blinked and looked down –at Roger lying like a dog hoping for a belly rub.

Her friend gave her a triumphant grin as she covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking for the flittest moment. _Roger: 7, Jessica: 3._

"You really don't quit," she said with amused resentment, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Before she could chastise him further, a pink toon butterfly fluttered by, catching her attention. A shaft of sunlight brightened from a doorway before someone walked in.

A rabbit toon appeared, a doe. Her honey blonde fur gleaming in the light as she turned around as though looking for someone. She walked delicately, like a nymph on spring grass, around the busy studio. Her long rabbit wavy ears swayed behind her back as she turned her head this way and that. Finally, her eyes settled on Roger who was still lying prone on the floor.

"Roger?" her soft voice rang clearly over the din.

Said rabbit suddenly lifted himself up. Jessica saw his eyes widen in recognition… and surprise? He stood up and slowly turned around –before he ran toward her like a lost desert explorer to an oasis.

Roger tripped upon the doe's feet and she softly put a hand on her lips with a giggle. She held up her hands to pull him up. But Roger stood up before her with the same reverence a commoner would bestow upon a princess.

"Cheri!" he exclaims.

Jessica raised a brow in surprise _. Did he just call her "dear" in French?_

Hearing them was hard, they were talking some distance away. The doe threw her arms around Roger and squeezed him.

The doe released him with a laugh and said something Jessica couldn't hear. Roger rubbed the back of his head embarrassedly, shuffling his feet.

Jessica stared at him. _Since when did he become shy?_

She turned around to see if anyone recognized her. From a distance she can see Herman's human nanny, Poppins, watching them.

"Jessica!"

The nanny turned her back on them. Before Jessica could ponder on that, she felt someone tug her hand.

"Jessica, I want you to meet Cheri Cottontail," Roger said, a big smile on his face. "Cheri, Jessica."

Jessica did not miss the tiny frown that crossed the doe's face when she looked at her. Nonetheless, the doe held out a white gloved hand, " _Bonjour_!"

Cheri was roughly two feet tall, she made Roger's 3-foot frame looked slim and stretched. The singer stooped with one hand on her chest and took the doe's hand, shaking it.

"It's a pleasure," she said.

Roger beamed at them. "Jessica is a singer! You should have heard her sing! She's incredible!"

"That's nice," Cheri said. She tucked her arm around his. "Roger, can we have lunch together? I know a place that serves a great carrot soup."

Feeling that she's being dismissed, Jessica took her leave. "I have to go."

Roger gave his friend a confused glance, "But Jessica, I thought-"

She shook her head, "I just hanged around to make sure I'm not needed in the set again," glancing at the intimate way the doe has both of her hands around Roger's arm.

"Do you want to come with us?" the doe asked. For a moment, Jessica wondered if she only asked out of courtesy.

"Perhaps some other time," she murmured.

Cheri nodded and turned Roger away. "Okay, Jessica. _Au revoir_!"

Jessica could hear her chatting about the restaurant as they walked away. Roger looked back at Jessica and gave her a final wave before turning to hear what Cheri was saying.

The pink butterfly, followed by a blue and yellow one, fluttered after them.

 _Now where did those came from?_ Jessica grabbed her purse and turned to see Poppins looking at her once again.

The nanny nodded and they both began to walk in the same direction, Jessica matching Poppins' no-nonsense stride with a graceful catwalk of her long legs. Neither of them was a patron of small talk and both were content with the companionable silence.

The silence stretched between them. To one side, a young woman clothed in a fashionable dress buttoned up to her neck, a flowery carpetbag in hand. To the other, a humanoid toon woman in a slinky red dress displaying a flash of her legs with every step.

Jessica's eyes wandered to the walls they passed by. She had always assumed he was a bachelor. Roger never mentioned he had a girl-

"Who is she?" she asked, finally breaking the soundless monotony.

Poppins whipped her head around with a frown as though she had just butchered their sacred contemplation.

"Who's who?" she asked back.

"Cheri Cottontail," Jessica answered.

Poppins raised a brow. "Then why are you asking?"

Jessica took a deep breath. Straightlaced as the nanny tends to be, there was a reason why she enjoyed the silence between them.

"You don't seem to like her so much," she pointed out.

Poppins raised the other eyebrow, both now widened with a cool air to them. "I don't 'seem', Jessica. You shouldn't make assumptions, you know."

The nanny gave a displeasured sniff that always made Herman want to push her off a ledge. "When Cheri comes, Cheri goes."

Jessica looked at her blankly as they turned a corner. When Poppins isn't being snippy, she's as cryptic as Wonderland's Caterpillar.

"She'll be back tomorrow," the nanny explained, "and the next day and the next day until she'll leave."

Jessica digested this new piece of information. Since she's still new to the studio, she still has a lot to learn about them.

"What do you know about her?" she asked, inflecting her tone to "curious".

Poppins gave her a sidelong glance. "What do _you_ know about her?"

Yet another thing that Herman hated about his nanny: her verbal mind games. On the contrary, Jessica understood this kind of dance. Poppins had just inquired, "What do I know about her that you don't, so I can tell you?"

"She's an anthropomorphic French lop-eared rabbit ," she responded, remembering what she could in her 3-minute encounter with Cheri. "Bambi-like eyes tell me she came from Disney industry or generation but she has three butterflies following her everywhere so she was intentionally drawn, not born. Also, she works as a schoolteacher."

Offering a close-lipped smile, Poppins seemed quite impressed. "How did you know? Was it the light blue cardigan? The pink prairie dress?"

"She has chalk dust on her back." Of course she remembered that. She saw Roger dust off her back while they exited the studios. Ridiculous. He could have just told her so Cheri could have just-

Poppins' laugh interrupted her thoughts. "That's a good one."

The nanny smiled at her as though she's a little girl who answered her riddle correctly. "Alright. Cheri was supposed to play Maid Marian. But the moviemakers thought a fox ending up with a rabbit would be weird. She's supposed to be French but they didn't give her the accent."

The hallway was empty save for the two women. Poppins sat on the bottom of the banisters, sliding upwards without any help. Jessica matched her pace by simply climbing the stairs alongside her.

"Finally, she chose to teach in a school in Toontown," she sniffed again as her feet touched the landing. "The sweet schoolteacher," she gave a pause. "It suits her, I suppose. She has that wholesome appeal."

Jessica's eyes momentarily closed at the word "wholesome."

"She could have been great," Poppins said almost like a retort. Her mouth shut up like a trap and said no more.

Jessica looked ahead but her mind was elsewhere. What Poppins said was all interesting but _the_ question wasn't answered. She finally paid attention to where they're going and saw her car. The two were close to parting ways but Poppins didn't look to be in the mood to talk anymore.

She might as well push her luck. "What else?" she asked casually as they reach her car. Jessica hoped Poppins' answering stare only looked shrewd because of her paranoia. She fished for her keys. It's not like she's asking for _that_ reason.

"Why don't you find out?" she asked back, "She will be back tomorrow anyway."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : I know I've written about Mary Poppins in my other fanfics before. But this time, I did an actual research (from Wiki, unfortunately. So take my research with a grain of salt). Here are the 3 things I've found:

1.) Mary Poppins came from a book.

2.) The author resented how Disney made Mary Poppins sympathetic, stern but sweet.

3.) Book Mary Poppins is a vain, snappish and stern nanny whose only trait that made her lovable is her magic.

Since the author hated the Disney version, I decided to portray more of Book Mary Poppins. In this universe, I'm thinking Mary had let an actress-slash-author write her story in 1934 which will become a movie in 1964.

AND YES, Roger and Jessica in here are still not a couple. For some reason, I like portraying them before they were together. Plus, in Gender Bender AUs, I kept hinting about a guy that broke Rhoda's heart before she and Jesse got together. There was supposed to be a sequel to **Across the Alternate** where Jessica found out from Rhoda about a guy she used to be crazy about and she's wondering if there was a girl out there that Roger loved first. But it wouldn't make a very big story so I chose not to.

Also, as much as I would love to give Cheri an accent I noticed that Disney characters, no matter their location, don't have accents. They want their mass audience (English speakers) to relate and understand them easily (which is understandable because they only got 90 minutes to tell the story and less than 15 minutes to make the audience love or sympathize with the hero). Lion King for example. How come only Rafiki has an African accent?

Lop-eared rabbits have droopy or "upside-down" ears, in case you don't know.


	2. Prologue 2

**Prologue Chapter 2** : A Walk in the Park

"So Carl s _th_ aid that I should jump to the lamppost." Roger jumped to said lamppost. "S _th_ wing around and here I'll be s _th_ inging the line 'It's a great day out!' Then jump down again s _th_ inging," he hopped back to the ground with his arms spread wide, "'C'mon and shout! It's a great day out! _na na na na_ , the rest of the lyrics."

The rabbit dropped back his arms again. "But I told Carl, what if I'd swing around the lamppost and fall off in the middle of my line? Because-"

"Because half of the audience would be hoping for it and half won't be expecting it," Cheri replied seriously, a hand on her chin.

Roger thrust his yellow-gloved hands to her. "Exactly!" he cried, "Becaus _th_ e-"

"It would be funny," the doe said, nodding in agreement.

Roger spread his arms out wide, addressing either the heavens or the lights in particular, "Finally! Someone who understands _th_!"

Cheri tilted her head quizzically to the side, her waist-length ears swishing to the same direction. "Don't you have Herman to talk over this with, _Mon'Ami_?"

The rabbit suddenly whipped up a carrot like a cigar. He gave her a look of half-lidded apathy with a twist to his mouth. "Mah role is ter act cute and babble jargons, rabbit. Don't ya think it's enough ah don' act like ma' age for a livin'?"

Cheri stared at him.

Their intermingling laughter spread throughout the set and Poppins shook her head. She turned around to look at Jessica. The singer stared at them with an impassive expression. She turned her back and walked away without another word.

She passed by Poppins when the nanny spoke. "Didn't you want to find out?"

Jessica casted her a glance. The nanny jerked her head back and Jessica turned around to see the director of the show and his assistant strode towards the two rabbits.

"Frank!" Cheri exclaimed, seeing them.

"Miss Cottontail, I'm so glad you could join us," the director said, shaking her hand. "This is my director assistant, Clark. We've been discussing about toon timing and I was wondering if you could demonstrate?"

Jessica's cool expression hid her confusion. Roger was standing right there, why not him? But then the rest of the crew seemed to be drawing closer. Jessica sensed this happens every time Cheri was around.

Cheri nodded. "Of course," she says, walking to the set.

The crew had just finished filming "A Walk in the Park" which featured all the possible hazards a bunny nanny can run into in a park with a very unmindful baby. She walked the length of Scene 2 –a playground and slowly explored. She then walked to the middle and turned slowly around in a circle, pointing at every gag before she put out her hands in front of her like she's framing the length of the seesaw.

She nodded in satisfaction and tied a bandana over her eyes. She put her hands in her back before calling out.

" _D'accord_ , Frank! I'm ready!"

Someone set off the gags switch.

Immediately, Frisbees whiz at her! But Cheri suddenly dodged, ducked and dipped at every turn. The fleet of Frisbees became boomerangs which she avoided with graceful ease as though she instinctively knew where each one would hit her and where each one would come back.

Everybody watched with bated breath.

Twist. Turn. Jump. Pirouette! Her dance-dodging caused her to move into a haphazardous swing set but she just glided and sidestepped through them with a sway of her ears. Out of the swinging swings, she casually walked backwards into a seesaw. Barely shifting the hands behind her back, one seesaw end tilted as soon as she reached the end. A rock suddenly crashed onto the tilted seesaw end and Cheri catapulted into the air, landing in a graceful arc on top of the slide.

She became a blur as she slid down and jumped up –missing the mushy mud pit waiting for her on the landing. Somersaulting in the air, she landed in front of them, her long ears acting like gliders to slow down her descent.

Silence, then...

A crashing applause ensued. Cheri took off her blindfold and responded with a ballerina's bow. Roger clapped the hardest, whooping.

Clark stared at her. "How did you do that?"

"Cheri's got an amazing timing sense!" Roger said, hopping up and down, "That was fantastic, Cheri!"

The doe laughed. "It's not just timing sense, Roger. It's also getting the estimates of the distances and figuring out the gags to be used." She turned to Clark. "It's the same sense everyone uses to know when to deliver the punch line."

"Only she uses it not to get hit!" Roger exclaimed. "As for me it's to… Bam! Pow!" he said, demonstrating explosions with his hands.

"I would have let myself slip on this baseball in the end," Cheri said to Clark, toeing the ball that Clark just noticed.

"Why?" the assistant asked.

"Because it would be funny!" the rabbits said in unison, one quoting scholarly, and the other with passion. Roger casted a glance at Cheri. She wasn't naturally funny but after studying with the masters for so long, she understood.

"It's about the build-up the timing causes," Cheri explained. "Noticed how everyone was holding their breath, wondering if I would get hit? Counting helps, if you know the length of your stride." She then went into a tirade of physics and toons physics.

The crew started to disperse, the show over. Jessica looked at Cheri, straight-back and proper then to the jumping, excitable Roger. Roger's theatrical skills were instinctive improvisations. Cheri, she observed, was more disciplined and did so with dignified grace.

In their own ways, they're both masters of comedy. Jessica felt like she's outside, looking in. She frowned.

"Cheri is one of the pioneers of actually documenting Toon Physics Application," Poppins sniffed. "Like I said, she could have been great. But she chose to teach."

"For someone who's supposed to work with children, you seem very crossed at the idea," Jessica replied, snapped out of her thoughts.

Clark thanked them and walked off with the director, leaving Roger and Cheri behind.

"Jeepers! Remember when we made a short of Lindy Hop that you showed to your students about Sense of Timing?" Roger asked.

"Of course," she replied primly, "With you, I don't have to count." Without another word, she closed her eyes and fell backward. Roger zips and suddenly appeared to support her.

Cheri opened her eyes and grinned up at him from his hold. "See?"

"I'd always be there to catch you."

The very air flared making Poppins whip her head around. Jessica breezed past, making a beeline for the exit with her purse. Poppins raised a brow –looks like they won't be walking together.

"Hey-Mary-I-know-Herman's-in-his-trailer-taking-a-nap-tell-him-I-won't-be-coming-later-bye!" a blur said, racing past her.

"Jessica!"

Roger suddenly popped up in front of the singer.

"Wanna grab a snack with us?"

Jessica sighed. She had seen enough sweetness to last her a diabetic decade. She opened her mouth, preparing her excuse…

 **XOXOXOXOXOXO**

… And found herself inside a restaurant with Roger and Cheri.

Jessica took a deep breath. How did Roger convince her again?

She broke the ice. "So, how long have the two of you known each other?"

The two rabbits looked at each other before looking at her again. "A long time," Cheri said, shrugging. "Ever since he came to ToonTown."

"You were drawn?" Jessica asked in surprise. She never thought about asking Roger's origins.

"Actually, he's a Grawn," Cheri replied. A Grawn is a toon generation born from Drawns. They usually has the ability to grow. Unlike Drawns that don't age, most Grawns grow where they learn to control their physical aging if the script calls for it.

Jessica looked at Roger. Drawns are transferred to Toontown, Grawns are born in there.

Roger shifted on his seat uncomfortably. "Yeah, but it doesn't really matter," he said before falling silent.

Jessica stared at the rabbit's discomfort. Roger would usually talk about almost anything.

Cheri's tinkling laugh filtered the air.

"The first time we met, I couldn't decide the way he kept looking at me," she said, "If it was his first time to see a toon or a girl!"

Roger's blue eyes widen before his yellow-gloved hand slapped on his face. "It was actually a little of each," he mumbled on his palm. "Geez, I must have looked stupid to you!"

Cheri tilted her head, smiling. "Actually, it was kind of cute."

Roger startled at the… discomfort in the air. He turned around, till his eyes land on Jessica.

"Jessica? Is _th_ there s _th_ omething wrong?"

There was suddenly tinkling laughter.

Cheri shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's just, Roger, you've always have that lisp. But you say her name very well."

Jessica looked up. Momentarily, she remembered Poppins explaining that he wanted her to feel more welcomed in the set.

"Practi _th_ e!"

They both laughed and even though they were talking about her name, their exchange, the way Cheri put her hand on his arm, is making her feel more like…

A third wheel.

Roger shot her a look of concern but Cheri spoke. "So, how long have the two of you been friends?"

Jessica and Roger looked at each other. "Not long," Roger said, answering for the both of them. Then he looked back at Jessica with a grin, "But long enough to know what makes the other one laugh!"

Jessica shot him a look. _Not now_.

Roger smiled at her with a halo popping on top of his head. _What?_

Her expression hardened _. I told you, I hate laughing out loud in public._

His grin became sheepish before he shrugged. _Okay, okay._

Cheri looked at them at each turn like a spectator in a tennis match. Roger thirstily drank from a glass of water.

"You know," she said. "Roger won't stop talking about you."

Roger spurted out his drink so fast; he blew a raspberry in seconds.

Jessica sipped her lemonade, unruffled. "Roger won't stop talking about anything." Being his constant companion in the set besides Herman, Jessica got used to the teasing their mismatched pair causes.

And as they resumed talking, Jessica couldn't help wondering. Where did Roger come from?


	3. Prologue 3

**Prologue Chapter 3** : A Story to Tell

"I'll be back in a jiff- Aack!"

A crash boomed as Roger tumbled through the open door of his trailer.

Jessica let out a chuckle as she also stepped inside. "Roger, you don't have to be funny all the time."

Ever since her talk with Cheri and Roger, she learned that the reason "Because it's funny!" is reason enough.

Roger rolled onto his stomach and propped his elbows on the floor. He leisurely kicked his legs as though he was in a meadow full of dandelions instead of a movie set trailer. "Who said I was being funny?" he asked looking up to her with wide, innocent eyes.

Jessica raised her brow in amusement. But she still couldn't tell when Roger was being an actual klutz.

The rabbit laughed, straightening up. "Alright, alright. I'll just get some things then we can go."

Since Jessica would always drive to the town after filming, Roger asked if he can come along to do some errands.

As he walked past the small section that served as a living room, his hand casually put a picture frame face down.

He caught her eye, opened his mouth as though to say something before shaking his head. Roger ambled into the kitchen, the refrigerator hiding him.

Jessica looked around. For an A-list toon star, the inside of the trailer was simply furnished. In fact, nothing indicated Roger used toon appliances. A human could live comfortably in his trailer.

Again, she wondered about Roger's past. She tried asking Herman about it once. The conversation went like this:

 _"Herman, where did Roger come from?"_

 _"Why don't you ask him?"_

 _"He doesn't seem to want to talk about it."_

 _"Exactly."_

Her eyes wandered to the faced-down picture frame. What would Roger be hiding? A silly picture with sentimental value to him, perhaps? She already liked him as a person; he didn't need to hide small memorabilia from her if he thinks they're worth something.

Was it a picture of Cheri? The thought made her heart drop but it must be the thrill of anticipation and burning curiosity.

She'll just take a quick look and that's it. Checking if he's still in the kitchen, she grabbed the picture and flipped it up.

Her eyes widened.

A baby toon rabbit welcomed her sight. The camera had caught the baby bunny in a middle of a gleeful gurgle. Jessica guessed this was Roger, judging by the tuft of red hair and blue eyes. His ears reached the length of his body and one of them flopped on one side of his head.

But what caught Jessica in surprise were the human couple in the photo. The man's long arm embraced the woman, looking at both "mother and child" with a gaze as soft as cotton. Underneath his gaze, the woman bearhugged the baby on her lap. One of Roger's ears entwined intimately with her hand.

The picture would have been a normal photo of a happy family if the "parents" were toons or if the "child" was huma-

"Jessica?"

Jessica looked up and almost dropped the picture at the sight of Roger. Her heart stopped. Time stopped. Silence stretched between them as she realized she was caught red-handed.

Roger looked stunned as he just stared at her. Then he blinked. His face turned crimson and he averted his eyes as though he wanted to be anywhere but there.

Jessica slowly put down the picture frame. He's embarrassed but…

Her heart sank when he took a large inhale and put a hand over his eyes.

Roger rarely, _rarely_ got mad. He hated feeling mad. Now, he doesn't want to be but Jessica could tell that he was.

She couldn't blame him. She saw his discomfort at putting down the picture and she still snooped.

Feeling like the scum of the earth, Jessica decided she had caused enough trouble.

"I'm going now," she murmured, turning at her heel and walking out of his door.

 **XOXOXOXOXOXOX**

Roger had once been in the receiving end of Jessica's anger. It wasn't pretty. After running into a pack of wolves on the way back to the set, Jessica's cool expression disguised the shitty day she was having. Whacking them with a frying pan had helped. But it just reminded her of what she has to deal with for the rest of her toon life. Someone had tugged her hand and without thinking, Jessica swung the frying pan. _Hard._

Roger had laughed it off after waking up. But the pan _and_ the wall weren't the same since, both now bearing the indentions of a rabbit.

Roger, who had seen the worst of her. The one who had witnessed her cold fury that iced the room from floor to ceiling. The one who had heard her frank sarcasm that silenced people into shame. Roger who had felt the cold air about her that kept most people away.

Roger who made her laugh; and, suddenly, she could see what he saw: she was bigger than all of her problems. That they're not so bad. That she can handle them. She knew all of those things a long time ago. But through Roger's eyes was a difference: there was a brightness that she never saw. There was hope.

Now Roger's the one mad at her.

And she couldn't handle it the way he did for her.

Jessica stifled a yawn and walked to the studio. She couldn't believe she couldn't sleep because Roger might still be mad at her. Wait, she could. Roger…

Her hand paused at reaching the doorknob as the realization hit her.

…mattered.

The door suddenly opened and Roger froze in midstep, looking at her.

Both humanoid toon and anthropomorphic rabbit gawked at each other.

Jessica tore her eyes away, shamefaced while Roger suddenly found the marble floor fascinating, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

They stood for what seemed like a whole minute, their gazes meeting and repelling when they realized the other was looking.

"Roger, I'm sorry," Jessica finally said.

Roger shook his head fervently. "Don't be silly, Jessica. I was the one being stupid," he studied his floppy feet. "I should have told you not to look at that picture."

To the outsiders, they must have looked strange. A glamorous toon woman who could advertise a Mustang on the spot, having a heartfelt talk with a furry floppy-eared clown.

"But I knew you didn't want me to look," Jessica said. Not for the first time, she wished her dress could allow her to crouch down. But that would only result in Roger backing away out of respect.

Roger finally looked at her. "Do you have the time?"

Curious, Jessica nodded. Roger led her in the direction of where his trailer was parked.

"Herman said it's time I told you about where I came from. He said you've been asking."

Jessica flinched internally at those words. _That old brat!_

Roger looked at her, sensing her reaction. "It's okay; I knew you'd be curious, after all." He laughed out loud in reminiscence. "Herman was worse. When I wouldn't tell him, I ended up with a baby ninja snooping around my trailer. At two in the morning."

He suddenly became very interested in the asphalt. "It's just that, it's too complicated to be talked over in a minute. It causes a lot of questions to be asked."

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Jessica replied, her heart lighter but still weighed down by lingering guilt.

"I want to. We've known each other for a while now," Roger smiled at her and Jessica felt it. The undertone on anything Roger-related: a familiar strong bond that tugged on her securely, a warm presence that lingered even after they parted ways.

They reached the trailer and Roger opened the door. He had her settle down on the sofa before handing her the picture frame again.

Jessica smiled at it as Roger went off to the kitchen. Roger looked awfully damn cute as a baby rabbit.

When she looked up, Roger had returned with a can of coke and carrot juice and a photo album.

He hopped up beside her and they both looked at the picture in the frame: a happy family of a human couple and an anthropomorph baby bunny.

"Roger? Who are they?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Jessica, meet my Ma and Pa."

 **XOXOXOXOX**

It was a dark, stormy night.

John C. Rabbit closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of wet earth seeping into the living room. He settled comfortably in the sofa, looking over his wife. Diane looked like a pile of sheets wrapped loosely in a bundle. The only reason that she couldn't be mistaken for laundry was the ginger hair glinting against the light.

He smiled sadly at her. He knew she wasn't sleeping. The cards in his hands made a comforting whirring as he cut and flipped them. His mind was too distracted for books tonight. He busied his hands to relieve his restless mind. His thumb ran over their edges; letting the cards slip and smack against each other in a whirring sound.

She's getting better now. The doctor's words had been like a blow to her. _I'm sorry… Your eggs… other couples… Infertile…_ For the past few days, she had been hiding behind a smile –the kind of smile you forced when you banged your thumb with a hammer.

People have many metaphors for life. Life is a wheel, they say –sometimes you're up, sometimes you're down. But it's like saying you have no control over the situation, like it's some kind of weather. They say when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. But what if life gives you nothing, like what it's doing to his wife right now? He'd try to comfort her when he'd caught her glancing forlornly at herself. But she'd just say she was worried about her waistline. Right.

John looked around at the sound of a creak outside. He rolled his eyes. It's probably Macowsky leaving a basket of carrots as a joke. Again. Yeah, not a lot of people have Rabbit as their surnames but he wished his neighbour would have better things to do.

But who would be out in the rain at this time of night?

He spread the cards in 8 lines for Solitaire and picked out the cards for the other rows of four. Looks like he got dealt with a bad hand.

The irony.

He flipped a card face up and blinks. A wide smile and a jester cap greeted him. Huh. He forgot to separate the joker.

"John, I hear something."

Diane sat ramrod straight on the other end of the sofa.

"It's probably Mike being a dolt again."

"Shhhh!"

This time, John fell silent. Rain splashed and tip-tapped, crickets chirped, and someone …crying?

John bolted up straight. His stomach dropped to his feet. It sounded like a baby crying. Narrowing his eyes, he strode to the door. Bloody Mike and his jokes. He's gone too far.

He looked first through the peephole. The porch was deserted. He took a deep breath and calmly stored the energy he's going to yell… or swing at the immaturity. With a look to his wife, he opened the door.

No one. Darkness as far as the porchlight can't reach.

"John, look!"

A basket lay on the dusty porch floor. Cautiously, they both peeped inside. The wailing was coming from inside. Diane tugged down the blankets and gasped.

Blue eyes peeped at them, so surprised, it stopped crying. Its ears restlessly waved off the blankets weighing them down.

"It's a…"

Overcoming the shock of their presence, its lips trembled and he began to bawl again.

"Oh shh! Hush!" Diane whispered, wounding her arms around the bundle.

John looked at it, his mouth hanging. He had never seen one up close, they looked so… flat in pictures.

"Oh dear, someone must have thought we're actual rabbits!" Diane said, and then she laughed. A sweet uplifting sound that had caught his ears before she had caught his eye. Her eyes moistened but her old spark was back as she rocked the baby.

John swallowed. Carefully, he touched its ear –velvety to the touch even if they're supposed to be of ink and paint. It also felt cold. He tucked it inside the blankets and felt warmer fur inside.

"The baby's a …"

He looked at its face again as it quieted down, lulled to sleep. He looked at his wife, glowing again as though she was given the most unexpectedly best gift in the world.

And John Cooper Rabbit decided he didn't give a damn.

"The baby's staying with us."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : What. Have. I. Done? I should never have read Wikipedia and Wikia's entries on WFRR. Ever since I've read the part of them to do a prequel, my mind have been trying to bridge that gap that their estimated gazillion dollar budget for the movie couldn't cross. My friends, this is just the prologue. Roger's story is coming.


	4. Happy Birthday, Son

**Chapter 1: Happy Birthday, Son**

"They're your parents."

It was supposed to be a question but it came out as a statement.

"Yup," Roger replied as they sat side by side, looking at his family picture.

Jessica stared at the happiness simply radiating from the father, the mother and the child. She simply had no qualms of being a Drawn, but she still felt a stab of jealousy in looking at the picture.

Roger's voice cut through her thoughts. "Go on, say it."

"Hmm?" Jessica's hair swept across her cheek. She tucked it again behind her ear as she looked at him.

The rabbit good-naturedly rolled his eyes. "The 'I-think-I- _sthee_ -a-family-resemblance joke' or _sthomething_ along that line."

She blinked her emerald eyes. "Roger, why would I say that? You don't look like your father and your mother is very beautiful."

"Oooooww!"Roger clasped an imaginary dagger on his chest. He put his hands on his hips; leaning forward with narrowed eyes but with lips quirked into a playful grin. "I knew there _wasth_ a comedienne hiding behind the diva!"

Jessica's cool smile contrasted with the sudden rush of flush that coursed through her. Rarely was she praised on her humor.

Meanwhile, Roger had carefully placed the picture frame back on the coffee table and was looking at it with a thoughtful expression.

She shook her head, trying to get her pulse back to normal. Her smile won't go away though. He didn't usually smile so… daringly.

"Well, I do look a bit different from my parents."

Jessica raised a brow.

"Alright, a lot," Roger said, opening a can of coke and giving it to her.

She took the can. "At least they didn't have to tell you you were adopted. It's right there."

"Actually…"

 **XOXOXOXOXOXO**

 _Post-war, 1945_

He should have known he was adopted.

Roger sighed as he looked out of the train window. Trees, farms, cows whizzed by faster than churning butter. The next moment, there was nothing but fields and the sky. They all blurred to him in a pattern of blue and brown that his eyes weren't seeing at all.

It had been his 18th birthday when they told him. After the candles were blown, after the gifts were unwrapped, they dropped the bomb on him. Well, they didn't, actually. They were a bit distracted during the cozy little party they gave him. Roger guessed it was because they were worried about him moving out. Ma kept wringing her hands when she thought he wasn't looking. Pa had some tightness in the corners of his mouth that he kept hiding unsuccessfully with enthusiasm.

The train jolted, snapping him out of his reverie. He shook his head, looked around and remembered why he was on the train in the first place.

He wanted to tell them that he wasn't planning to move out. He wanted to stay and help in the farm. Ma had been a nervous wreck during the war, having her brothers drafted.

During those months, she kept singing happy songs. But they weren't sung happily. They were sung quietly like prayers to ward off demons of fear.

Now that the war was over, people were trying to move on and so were they. But before he could tell them that, Pa took a deep breath and said, "Son, there's something we have to tell you."

His eyes stayed fixed somewhere on the horizon. Pa's baritone kept rambling inside his head, the conversation repeating over and over again.

" _Son, we just wanted to tell you," he ran his hand over his salt-and-paper hair. "W-we love you. A lot. You've made us both proud. But you need to know."_

" _Remember that we'll always love you, honey!" Ma had said. Roger cocked an ear at the tinge of pleading in her voice. He beamed at her reassuringly._

" _I know, Ma! I'll always love you two!... too? Love you two, too? Two-too?"_

 _Ma's face suddenly scrunched up like she's trying not to cry. Roger got a sinking feeling that he had just made her feel worse. Pa kept running his hand over his hair so much it started sticking out in the back._

" _Your Ma and I think you're old enough to know, son. Lord knows we've kept it from you for so long. You've never asked and we just went with it. How did you grow up so fast, Roger? It seems like only yesterday when you were running around with armfuls of daisies. You used to carry around your teddy bear and asking why it isn't called 'beddy bear'. Then there was your first winter walk and you were enjoying the cold so much you took off your clothes and-"_

" _Pa! What are you going to tell me?"_

 _Snapped out of his rambling, his father just blurted it out._

" _You're adopted, Roger."_

A slap was heard inside the carriage of the train and Roger slowly dragged his hand down from his face.

He had been such a fool.

 _Roger stared at them. "What?"_

 _Pa fixed him a steady gaze and Roger felt his hurt, it had to be real. "We're not your real parents."_

" _But we still love you and we always will," Ma said hurriedly, as though she's afraid that he's going to run or yell or ignite or something._

 _They can't be telling him this. They must be joking. He looked at them from across the table. They seem to be holding each other for support and both were looking at him expectantly._

 _He looked back with the same expectations, waiting for them to say "Surprise! Haha! We're just joking son! Got you, didnt we?"_

 _But his parents were never the type to prank, much less, his stern father._

 _The world suddenly became smaller as realization swallowed him._

" _Roger?" his mother ventured._

 _He can hardly hear her. His head buzzed like a firecracker just exploded too near his ears. He's not in there in the kitchen with his parents. He's Alice and he's falling down the rabbit hole. They're saying something but they sound far away. He can't be adopted. He had lived with them his entire life. There must be some kind of a mistake. They can't be serious. His throat let out a spasm that could have been a choke or a chuckle._

" _Roger, honey. Say something, please!"_

 _Roger jerked and looked at them as though realizing they were there. Vaguely, he could feel his mother's hands clutching his._

" _Wha..?"_

" _Listen, Roger," her voice amazingly calm. "This doesn't change anything at all. We're still your parents. You're still our son," his mother said, gripping his hands tighter across the table._

 _It doesn't?_

 _Roger looked down on their hands. Pale hands of flesh and skin gripping hands of white fur. Something was crumbling down. The world was crumbling down. Everything he knew was crumbling down. He should have known. He should have known._

 _He wordlessly slipped from his chair. The world, for some reason, was spinning. Both of his parents rose from their chairs, lines creasing their faces. Their mouths were moving but he can hardly hear them. He backed away from them with feet that are too big. His parents' feet are small and shoed. Unconsciously, he grabbed his ears. Ears. His ears are too long. They're not his Ma or Pa's ears. His mouth began to move but his throat felt obstructed._

" _Who?..." he croaked, "Where?... How?"_

 _His mother rushed at his side and knelt beside him. She had to. Roger never grew above 4 feet if you include his ears. Unlike them who looked so tall._

" _We don't know, honey. We just found you."_

 _She was leaving something out. He knew his mother too well._

" _Where?"_

" _On our doorstep."_

 _A sting went through him from those strangers –no, his real parents who just left him._

Roger shook his head. His gaze fixed not on the horizon anymore but on his hand. It was like any other hand except for the fur. He scowled at it.

He should have known he was adopted. The truth never had to stare at him in the face because it was blindingly obvious. He remembered asking Ma as a little boy why he looked so different.

 _Boing! "Mama!"_

 _Boing! "Mama!"_

 _Boing! "Mama!"_

 _Every bounce of his feet sent him nearly up to her eye-level as he called for her attention in midair. He can see the amused quirk of her lips as she glanced up in the middle of preparing dinner._

" _Yes, Roger darling?" Ma asked, giving him a glance while he perpetually bounced at her side._

 _Boing! He hangs in midair. "Why am I hairy?"_

 _Boing! He appears again, stretching his ears to full length. "Why do I have long ears?"_

 _Boing! He was now holding out his feet. "Why are my feet big?"_

 _His mother finally caught him in midbounce and with a huge smile, she spoke._

" _Because you were born that way!"_

 _And he never asked again._

His ears flop over and Roger looked up, staring at them. Later on, he just thought he's got a few defects. They have a neighbor with a lazy eye. A shop keeper with one leg shorter than the other. Even a mechanic with extra toes on both feet. So what if he had long ears? Plus, their surname is Rabbit, it just made sense.

To him, anyway.

He looked around and the less ruder people turned their gaze away. The conductor had taken one look at him and pointed him to the rail cars for coloreds. Even to the segregated, he must have looked strange. No wonder the townspeople were wary of him. They kept looking at him like he was about to do something awful.

 _A sleepless night and a restless day after, Roger finally spoke at the dinner table._

" _I'm going to find my bi'logical parents."_

 _Ma and Pa both looked up but Roger avoided looking at his mother. He won't be able to bear the look on her face._

" _But I'm going to need your help," he continued, "Do you know where I can find them?"_

 _They both looked at each other and Roger gripped his spoon tighter. It was the look of a silent conversation. What else were they keeping from him_?

 _His father finally looked at him. "We have an idea, son. But there is something we have to tell you."_

 _Not again._

" _Roger, do you know why you looked different?"_

" _Because you're not my real parents," he said dully. He regretted it the moment the words left of his mouth. He felt, rather than saw, his mother flinched._

" _Sorry," he mumbled, shamefaced._

 _His father ignored it. "Why you looked so different from everyone else?"_

 _Roger shrugged._ Does it matter?

 _Pa rose from the table, wiping with his napkin. "Come to the living room, Roger."_

Roger finally resorted to putting a scarf over his mouth and nose, pulling up the collar of his coat. He jammed his hands inside his gloves. His newsboy cap still exposed too much so he put a scarf underneath like earflaps. His ears can be mistaken for earflaps themselves. But for some reason, his fur cannot be mistaken for animal pelt. People would notice.

His ears felt cramp and begging to move inside his cap. But he's getting tired of the stares already. More people came inside the carriage. He looked down on his large floppy feet. Too bad he can't do anything about them.

" _You're a toon, Roger."_

 _He had heard about that. People muttered the word when they thought they couldn't hear him. Wasn't it obvious his long ears weren't just for decorations? Around them were magazines, newly bought. Pa flipped page after page with Roger beside them._

" _You're different from us. Very different." His pipe clacked against his teeth. "Problem is, I can't explain how different."_

 _His fingers stopped at a picture of what looks like three birds dancing with a girl in a strange dress. His father gave the three birds a tap. Beneath the picture, the words_ The Three Caballeros _were smacked in the middle._

" _They're toons just like you."_

 _Roger stared hard at them, trying to understand. "But they look like birds."_

" _Not just any birds," Pa said. "Here's another one."_

 _He tapped his pipe on a photo of a two-feet tall toon shaking a man's hand._

 _Roger's head tilted to the side. "He looks like a mouse," he said, staring at the toon's round large ears. A pattern was beginning to set. He lifted the page back to the Caballeros and back to the mouse. For a moment, he stole a glance at himself._

 _He looked back at the pictures. "I look like a rabbit. He looks like a mouse. They're birds." He looked up to his parents, quizzically. "So toons are people who look like animals?"_

 _Should he feel something from the comparison?_

" _Not really," Pa answered, frowning at his words._

 _Another page showed a marquee bearing the word "Popeye." The picture caught the midst of activity but in the center is a large burly man with a barreled chest. His body was so big; his head looks small in comparison. Beside him was a sailor with forearms and fists that look swollen._

 _This time, Roger's eyes widened. "They look different."_

 _Pa slid a photo still of the three birds and the girl on the coffee table. He then placed a painted poster of their movie._

" _Noticed how the girl looked different in the movie poster? Toons look the same in both photos and paintings. They're just easier to capture their image."_

 _Roger stared at the toons. Were toons like a different race? Like Negros or Germans or Japanese?_

" _So toons can look like animals or hu-"_

 _He stopped, his eyes widening. His insides froze as the realization crashed on him like a sledgehammer on ice. Somewhere in the haze, he heard Pa's concerned voice._

" _Roger?"_

 _He whipped his head towards his father and he saw him flinch. From what? The shock radiating from him? The hint of betrayal or was it accusation in his face?_

" _Are they human?"_

 _Silence._

" _Am I human?" he demanded. He never expected he'd talked to any of them this way._ Is this why Pa said it's hard for him to explain? Son, you're not human?

 _He suddenly felt his stomach roil. The room began to spin. He wanted to vomit. It all made sense now. He's not hairy. It's fur. His ears are not too long. They're just right. His feet aren't abnormal. They're perfect. They're perfect for an actual-_

" _Roger!"_

 _A pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and he snapped back to reality. He blinked and found himself staring at his mother's chestnut eyes. She had been sitting there quietly as Roger and Pa talked._

" _Toons are people too. Don't you ever forget that._ " _Sweet, gentle Ma was now giving him her iron glare that leaves no place for an argument._

The train whistled, shaking him out of his mother's clear eyes. His stop. It was late. How long had he been staring at the window? He didn't even noticed the sun go down, much less noticed that dinner time had passed.

He grabbed his rucksack and ambled out of the train, coughing from the steam.

 _Her face transforms into a smile. Roger stood, transfixed, as unshed tears, sadness and the love that was always there made her eyes twinkle like stars; it almost broke his heart. Her fingers slowly unclasp his shoulders as though she's letting him go in more ways than one._

" _If you want to find your real parents, your best luck is ToonTown."_

 **XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

 **Author's Notes** : According to Wiki, the prequel they were planning was Roger being adopted in a parody of Superman, grows up in Kansas and finds out he's a toon by 18 years old. He then looks for his mother in Toontown. The movie was supposed to happen during World War 2.

This story follows the same vein only it happens a few months after the war. In here, he hasn't met Jessica yet because I think Roger has a lot more to _become_ first. For some reason, something's pushing me to write this –since last year! Be prepared for the ride, boys and girls.

Photo still of the Three Caballeros: media. liveauctiongroup i/8886 /10148512_2. jpg?v=8CD7D0ADCE55530

Painted movie poster of the Three Caballeros: www. dominiquebesson photos_gm/ trois-caballeros-belge. jpg

P.S.: Eeyup, Roger in here is a Mama's boy. Whenever I try to imagine Roger as somebody's child, I can't imagine him being an eldest. Sure he takes care of Baby Herman in their show. But he doesn't strike me as the type who grows up having the responsibility of raising a kid while being a kid himself. Nor does he strike me as the baby of the family. He could be a middle child but let's stick with him being the only child in here. How about you? What do you think?


	5. A Crash Course in Looney Lane

**Chapter 2: A Crash Course in Looney Lane**

"It turned out; my birthday was the day they actually found me." Roger shot a glance to their family picture. "There was nothing in the basket that indicated any clues about my parents –just non-toon blankets."

He looked away. "Sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me."

Jessica stared at her friend but his gaze was transfixed somewhere on the coffee table.

"I should have known I'm too different. Instead, I just thought I got a bunch of gen'tic defects. In fact, I should have paid more attention to the people muttering about me." He paused, before continuing.

"Ma and Pa didn't seem to care how, so I didn't too," Roger said, hugging his knees. He pointedly didn't look at Jessica, his ears deflating at the sides of his head. Why did he doubt his sanity then get defensive of himself? There really was something wrong with him.

Jessica put a hand on his shoulder.

"It can be overwhelming, seeing what you see as normal for a long time, wasn't actually normal," she said quietly, remembering a shadier world in the business of animation.

Roger shrugged and smiled, capping back his optimism. He willed his ears up again. "It was shocking for me but given time, any person would get used to anything!"

He heaved the photo album on his lap. Jessica realized that it was more like a scrapbook than a photo album.

He opened them to the first page.

"Oh," Jessica said, her eyes widening with recognition.

Roger nodded. "Yeah, they're the first friends I made in Toontown."

"How did you meet them?"

The rabbit traced the edges of the photo with a reminiscing laugh. "They almost ran into me."

 **XOXOXOXOXOXO**

After traveling by third-class train carriages, the night service tramcars were more comfortable. He was again pointed to the Colored's section. Since not a lot of people travel late; at least he didn't have to give his seat to a white man. Roger rubbed his eyes. He couldn't sleep well in both train and tram. He got too paranoid with the stares he was accumulating. Weren't toons supposed to be common near Hollywood or something?

He got off the tram near the Acme Factory. According to the map on Pa's magazine, Toontown was near it.

Now what?

One of the gates of Acme Factory opened. Rabbit ears perked up underneath his hat at the sight of a truck unlike any other truck he had seen (and he had seen a lot, growing up in the farm).

"Acme Toon Truck," he read aloud to himself as it slowly began to stir to the left. Without further ado, Roger ran after it.

He's not a sprinter but he knew he's faster than most people. He pumped his feet, his breath quickening.

With a bound, his hand snatched the truck's cold door handle.

"WHOO-HOO!" he exclaimed before slapping a hand on his mouth. He shifted his feet on the small step and hoped the driver won't get suspicious.

He studied what he could of the truck he was hitchhiking on. It felt cool, like metal. But its body doesn't gleam like one in the moonlight. In fact, it looked dull. Was this made from toon metal? Was there even such a thing?

He looked up to the stars. Too bad he can't see where they're going.

Roger gasped when everything went dark. A tunnel. They're crossing a tunnel. At least he thought so.

Then as suddenly as it went dark, everything was light again. Roger's eyes bugged.

"Whoa," he whispered.

As far as the eye can see, it was plains and valleys everywhere. Trees and flowers droop together, sleeping. The animals curled under rocks and trees were still. Everything breathed in and out rhythmically in symphony, a rhythm of snores whispering faint in the air.

Roger watched as he saw a teaspoon laughed at the cow jumping over the moon.

"Jeepers…"

His entire vision was suddenly replaced with buildings, billboards and more buildings. Roger looked around. They must be in the heart of the town.

The truck passed by a lane and Roger hopped off. He stretched his arms, looking at his surroundings. He froze before slapping a hand on his forehead. He should have hopped off at the busiest section of the town. That way, he could ask for available places to stay overnight.

He shrugged, deciding it was no big deal. All he had to do is follow the sidewalk where the roads run the busiest and hopefully avoid getting mugged or getting hit by a-

Beep! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPP!

Roger's eyes widen and he froze at the incoming blast of light. He leapt! Metal grazed the fabric of his pants.

"Oomph!"

His shoulder crashed unto the pavement and he rolled away to safety, the alkaline taste of dirt spreading into his mouth.

CRASH!

He lay there, heaving. Roger tried to calm his heart from leaping out of his mouth with the contents of his empty stomach following. He forced his rapid, shallow breathing to slow down, willing his chest to expand slowly and evenly. When he was sure his body wasn't going to do what it was threatening to do, he raised his head to spit out the rubble on his mouth, rubbing his tongue on the sleeve of his coat.

As the ringing of his ears slowly succumbed, he could hear a car door creak and several voices.

"Sufferin' Succotash! I knew we shouldn't have let you drive!" The speaker's voice was nearly spitting out the "S".

"Like you could do it better? Two words, _Sthylvether_ ," another replied. "Tweeeeeting _birdSTH!,_ " he spat. Roger can practically imagine the huge glop of spit that came out with the latter word.

The shock of near-death experience began to wear off, leaving Roger with only the _slightest_ irritation. He almost didn't last three minutes in Toontown because of them.

"Oh yeah? You're _desthhhpicable_!" the other one shot back. "Right, Wile?"

"That's my line!"

"HEY!"

The owners of the voices whipped their heads around to see a bundle of human clothes stumbling up to stand. Roger's cap lay askew over his eyes and he angrily yanked it off, bunny ears springing into freedom. He savagely jerked off his scarf, revealing a very livid face.

"Are you all loonies?! I could have been killed!"

Now that Roger can see them, he realized what they look like. One looked like a black duck, another one is a black-and-white cat with a red nose and the last one… he was most certain was a coyote. The smoking car, or what was left of it, was crunched against the crumbling wall –where he had just been passing by.

Silence stretched between him and the strangers.

Then the trio collapsed into fits of reckless laughter.

Or rather, the duck started pounding the floor in cachinnation while the cat writhed on the ground, clutching his stomach. The coyote only gave a small sardonic smile and shook his head.

Roger stared at them in disbelief. They're crazier than he thought.

The duck sat up long enough to talk. "You sounded so serious, I thought you weren't joking! WHOO-HOO-HOO! HAHA!" He gasped before falling on the floor again in hysterical laughter.

They _are_ crazier than he thought.

Moral outrage dissipating, he simply turned his back on them and walked away. He had more important matters to attend to.

A blur zips in front of him and Roger halted in surprise. The duck leaned on him with one arm thrown across his shoulders.

" _Ssstthhaaaay_ , Pedro!" the duck said, leaning so close, he tipped down his bill so that their faces are almost touching. "What's up with these," he plucked the sleeve of Roger's coat with his fingers (or were they feathers?), " _Tweedsssth_?"

Roger stepped back from the sudden intrusion of his personal space. "What about it?" he asked, distracted. For the first time, he realized that these people weren't wearing any clothes.

Yet, the duck fluidly step in time of his backing away. Roger stepped back and pretty soon, they look like they were doing an uncomfortable version of Tango.

"You look like a human dressed you. What's the matter, Jeeves?" His tone jerked into fast and aggressive and he started poking him at the chest. "Your artist is too cheap to draw you clothes or something?! Huh? Huh?! HUH?! "

Roger finally sidestepped away from him. Daffy splatted down on the ground.

"I gotta go," Roger quickly mumbled, slinging his pack closer to him. _Rule number 33,_ Pa said, _stay away from crazy people._

Then he stopped as though debating with himself before turning around to ask.

"Do any of you know a place to stay?"

The three looked at each other, each mirroring each other's confusion.

The coyote raised a brow at the two, the duck shook his head at them and the cat shrugged.

The coyote opened his hands at them and the duck shook his head with more vigor. They both looked at the cat who pointed at himself questioning disbelief.

The duck folded his arms, the coyote tilted his head and the cat threw up his mitts exasperatedly.

Roger looked at them strangely; it was like wordless conversation using only their tics.

"You're obviously new in here," the cat finally said. "How about _thisth_? For almost running you over, we buy you a drink?"

The cat must have seen the hesitation in his eyes so he mustered his most amiable smile.

"Don't you want to ask us locals about Toontown?"

The duck quietly slipped on his loony grin over his smirk; the rabbit obviously didn't know who they are.

 **XOXOXOXOXOXOX**

Roger sat uncomfortably on his chair. He heard about bars but he never knew one was open this late. His fingers play with his glass of lemonade.

The cat, who introduced himself as Sylvester, was doing the same with his rootbeer, glaring at both the coyote and the duck.

The coyote, who was said to be Wile, paid him no mind and calmly sipped his tomato juice.

The duck, who shook Roger's hand so vigorously that it wobbled long after the handshake was done, said his name was Daffy. Daffy sat on his chair teetering dangerously on its hind legs. With his head tilted back and his orange feet on the table; he spurted his soda like a fountain.

Roger wondered why they just left their car like that but he saw the duck put a card on the windshield –wherever he was keeping it.

" _Stho_ ," Sylvester said, shifting his shoulders with his tongue sticking out. He obviously was not used to leading a conversation. "Who made ya?"

Roger looked at him, baffled. What on earth was he talking about? Religion?

"It's kinda hard to tell but it's obviously not the big guys or you wouldn't be walking around with those duds," he continued, waving his mitt on Roger's clothes.

"But other toons wear clothes," Roger said, remembering the pictures he had seen with his Pa.

One of the cat's ears twitched. "Why do you talk so quietly?"

Roger hunched his shoulders, uncomfortably looking down at his lemonade. He sipped before speaking. " _Becauthe_."

"A _listhp_ too, huh?" Sylvester made a raspberry, waving his mitt. " _Puh-leeasthe,_ Daffy and I had been _listhping_ our whole lives!" He put his hands on his hips. "What are you ashamed about, anyway? _Sthally_ _sthells_ _stheashells_ on the _stheashore_!" he declared.

Roger politely dodged the fleet of flying spit. The cat leaned forward by his elbow on the table.

"Now back to what you've said. Toons wear toon clothes," Sylevster explained patiently as though he's talking to a child. "Human clothes don't survive being ripped, smashed and exploded."

Pa once explained to Roger about culture shock. It sounded like the residents of Toontown suffer from grave dangers. But the cat with the red nose sipped his rootbeer as though he just talked about getting up this morning.

Roger looked down on his clothes. His clothes look normal. He looked around at the other patrons. Some were wearing clothes but… they look different. Was it the fabric?

"How old are you, anyway?"

Roger's brows furrow deeper. He thought it was rude to ask someone's age since a lot of people were bothered by it. At least, that's how it was in his town.

"A day? Three days? They're supposed to be responsible in making arrangements for you. Why did they transfer you here this late?" Sylvester asked, suddenly producing a nail file.

Roger's ear cocked at the sight of the gadget. _Where was he keeping that?_ He cleared his throat, deciding to answer the question he knew the answer of.

"I'm eighteen."

"Eighteen hours? Eighteen days? That's a very long time before you got transferred," Sylvester said, filing his nails.

"I'm eighteen years old," he said, his face brazen with frank confusion.

Daffy suddenly choked in the middle of gurgling "Carolina in the Morning", splattering them all with spit and soda. Wile's jaw dropped on the table in a horrifying proportion that Roger stared at it, fascinated. A yowl of pain cut through the air and Sylvester was holding his paw with claws abruptly reduced to stubs.

"YOU'RE WHAT?!" Sylvester hollered, rising on his chair and spraying spit everywhere. Roger sank low on his chair, ducking from his body fluids. It looked like he answered the question wrong.

"I'm eighteen; I grew up in _Kansasth_ with my Ma and Pa-"

"IN _KANSASTH_?! WITH YOUR-" Wile grabbed Sylvester by the muzzle so that his lower face was fisted like rubber, making his red nose bulge.

Roger's eyes widened at the sight of his facial contortion.

The coyote yanked him down and gave him a look. That seemed to calm Sylvester down and Wile let go. They both looked around but the other barflies were either passed out or too sullen to care.

"Jeepers! Are you two okay?" Roger asked with concern. "You looked like you dislocated your jaw for a moment," he said, catching the coyote's eye. "And your face," he winced, looking at the cat whose face had snapped back to normal, "That looked like it hurts."

Confused silence was their only response.

Roger tilted his head to one side and the trio subconsciously mirrored him. They looked at the rabbit's human clothes. They looked at the honest, young face; the eyes holding a gleam of naivety yet untouched by the world. A boy from a small town –in a body of a rabbit.

Finally, Sylvester spoke out, his voice slow with dawning realization.

"You don't know how to toon? Do you?"

Before Roger can ask what he meant by that, Daffy's peppy voice cut through the air.

"Hey buddy! Aren't ya goin' to finish yer drink? Geez! So _wastheful_!"

Roger looked at the duck, who was casually inspecting his fingernails (or were they feathertips?) as though he hadn't spoken. He grabbed his glass and tossed the contents inside his mouth in one gulp.

Roger dropped the glass as his whole body started to quiver.

 _What's happening?_

His head started to buzz, the room swirled and blurred. It suddenly felt hot. His whole body burned with fire in a summer field. Numbly, he can hear himself making spastic sounds.

Sylvester, Wile and Daffy stared with awe as his eyes turned into rainbow swirls and his white fur purpled, then greened and suddenly turned a bright shade of red like a pitcher being filled with neon red juice. The rabbit began to quake, his cheeks ballooned and they all backed away from the table.

Everyone ducked, covering their ears as the rabbit shoot up to the ceiling, screeching a song of a steam-powered engine. Fliers and tissues whirled around the bar with Roger as the eye of the storm, steam pouring out of his mouth and ears. Bottles shattered on the shelves, shot glasses exploded into shards and windowpanes cracked and burst into smithereens as the high pitched whistle achieved frequencies no human could bear.

In the midst of it all, Daffy calmly stood there and watched; his feathers ruffling against the wind. Grim eyes surveyed the rabbit's effect.

Never had he seen anyone with such raw tooniness.

Suddenly, it ended abruptly as it happened. Roger crashed unceremoniously back to his chair, his face high-fiving the table with a bang.

A pulse of silence after a storm. Sylvester and Wile slowly stood up and joined Daffy. The duck was still looking at Roger as though he's a specimen for a scientific experiment.

"Did you just _sthpike_ his drink?" Sylvester whispered.

Roger groaned; feeling like a sledgehammer was wedged into his skull. He can hear their voices. If only the room would stop spinning.

Daffy put one hand on his chin. "He can toon," he decided.

In a flash, Roger found himself high up in the air, effortlessly lifted by Daffy over his head.

"Hey! What are you-"

CRASH!

Daffy didn't drop him. He slammed him flat against the floor. The trio watched for any reaction but Roger lay unmoving and crumpled.

The duck continued to objectively observe him as though he had just prodded him with a stick.

"But he doesn't know how."

The rabbit finally lifted himself up feeling anything but happy. His eyes were stinging from pain. His body ached and his head felt hammered.

These people were officially crazy _and_ abusive.

"You know what? I'll manage, thank you," he said irritably, grabbing his pack and trying not to hobble out of the bar.

"Wait! Roger!"

Roger did not wait. He briskly walked, trying to put as much distance between him and them. The cross road was empty and he walked across.

Big mistake.

The roads were suddenly filled with zooming trucks and cars in every direction. Roger stood stock still, his head whipping at every blur that passed him.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPP!

Roger tumbled to the side, a humungous tire seconds from where he stood. A car screeched at him, making his ears curdle and he rolled to the other side. His head spun as his sensitive ears quivered and curled against the beeping, the honking and the blasting of horns.

The trio watched in horror as he fumbled through the road.

Sylvester grabbed Daffy by the feathers on his collarbone. "He's going to literally die and go to toon heaven unless we do something!"

Roger stumbled through the speeding hazes and smoke. He's going to die in here, if not land in a hospital with insurmountable pain.

 _I'm sorry, Ma and P-_

"Oof!"

Something had hit him. Roger shut his eyes, certain he at least been granted a painless death. He waited. And waited. When nothing happened, his cracked one eye open.

Black feathers and a jaded face welcomed his vision. Roger gaped at him. He then realized that he was back in the sidewalk in Daffy's arms, being carried as though he weighs nothing.

But it was the look on Daffy's eyes that caught his attention. No longer are they manic or goofy. Instead, they were shrewd. They were calculating. His dark irises reflected Roger's shock expression.

"How did you –oof!"

Daffy tossed him back to the ground. Roger sat stock still, his heart still thumping fast from his second brush with death. These people were rubbery, freakishly fast and cuckoo. What would become of him if every toon were like them?

The duck spoke, his voice calm as though he had been acting sane the whole time. "If you're going to stay in Toontown, you'll need to know how to toon."

The sun began to rose behind him; casting him, Sylvester and Wile with glows and tall shadows.

"Come with _usth,_ " he continued.

Roger dusted himself off. "No."

The duck raised a brow. So much for the dramatic sunrise scenery. This guy obviously didn't know who they were, where he was and what they were capable of.

What himself was capable of.

The rabbit shifted his pack before glaring at him. "You almost clipped me with your car, you _sthpiked_ my drink with whatever you put in it-"

"Giggle water," was the offhand reply.

"-alcohol doesn't do that to anybody! And you splat me on the floor for no reason at all!" Roger stopped, took a deep breath like Ma would do when her patience was running thin.

"I don't know how you _sthaved_ my life but thank you but no thank you." He turned his back on the duck, ready to get away from them all. _Only a loony would follow them-_

"My apologies," a new voice said. Roger whipped his head around. The voice sounded smooth and deep. Surprise halted his exit when he realized that it was coming from the coyote.

"We did not mean to cause you so much distress. However, not all of us are like our friend here. May you listen first for what I have to say?"

Roger stared at him, stunned. He sounded like a book and a posh restaurant rolled into one. However, the coyote stood with elegant self-assurance despite the scruffy brown coat. Cunning, yellow eyes smiled at him as he held out his hand to Roger.

"Wile E. Coyote –super genius. You are looking for a place to stay, are you not?"

Roger looked at him in confusion. He casted a furtive glance at Daffy whose face was unreadable. There is a saying about birds of the same feather.

Wile saw his brows furrowed, his hand clutched the strap of his pack tighter as he opened his mouth to speak.

 **XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

 **Author's Notes:**

Here are the timelines of the new characters when they first appeared on screen:

Daffy Duck: 1937

Sylvester the Cat: 1945

Wile E. Coyote: 1949

Some of you may argue that Wile doesn't exist yet in 1945. But understand this; they made their film debut in the above years mentioned. **If toons do exist, they may have lived and developed before hitting the theaters.**


	6. Roger's First Job in ToonTown

**Chapter Three: Roger's First Job in Toon Town**

"That was wrong of him," Jessica bluntly said.

Roger shrugged. "I _confessth_ my first alcohol experience gave me the _williesth_!"

Jessica raised a brow and Roger, for some reason, read her question easily in her eyes.

"Pa wasn't a drinker and Ma made it clear she didn't want me drinking alcohol." He scratched his head. "Come to think of it, I think they knew what alcohol does to toons."

Roger smiled at the photo where a black duck was frozen into a dance. "That time, I thought Daffy was just being a capricious creep! A jolly jerk! A beanheaded bully! A wackheaded wisecrack! A-"

Jessica gave him a gentle poke on the shoulder, snapping him out of his atrocious alliterations.

"But given enough time, you'll realize everything Daffy did was calculated."

 **XOXOXOXOXO**

Roger woke up to the smell of fried eggs and toast. Coffee wafted in the air.

He rolled over and yelped with a crash.

 _Good morning, gravity._

Roger groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His blurry vision slowly focused and he found himself in a wild nest of props pandemonium.

At least that was what Wile called them last night. _What are props short for, anyway?_

He turned around to make his bed before remembering Wile had set up a hammock for him.

" _I do apologize for the inconvenience," Wile said, tugging the hammock's knot tied on the pillar. "Since every part of the floor is occupied; we have to utilize every space we can –air space included."_

" _There!" he said with satisfaction at the Falconer's knot. "I am such a genius!"_

Roger glanced at the other empty hammock before turning at his surroundings. He hadn't asked, but he's pretty sure Wile lived in a storage house fit for a hoarder's dreams.

His hand smooth over a cabinet, the pink sensitive pads of his palms and fingertips feeling its surface. The metal cabinet wasn't too cold, in some way, the warehouse was heated. There is no dust indicating Wile definitely lived here.

Everything that could exist seems to have been pushed inside as though to fill the warehouse to the brim. Cars, chairs, boulders, safes, anvils, cactuses, rubber chicke-

"Good morning, ol' chap," Wile said, poking his head out of a section of the room. He waved a hand to his left. "Bathroom's there, breakfast here, and catastrophe everywhere. On you go!"

Another thing about Wile, he sounded like an English man (if radio voices were to be believed) even though Roger was pretty sure there were coyotes in Mexico, America and Canada only (if his childhood animal books were correct).

After washing up, Roger awkwardly sat down in the kitchen table. Wile hid an amused smile as the rabbit tried not to gawk at the stove, the oven and pretty much everything.

"It's obvious you've never seen toon appliances before," Wile remarked. The kettle whistled in agreement.

"I'm pretty sure our toaster doesn't stare at me when I eat," Roger replied, tilting his head as the toaster blinked at him. He lifted his mug which grinned at him. "Are these toons too?"

Wile shook his head. "My boy, you have a lot to learn."

They ate in silence. Roger was relieved that at least his toast doesn't have a face. If he eats a meal with a face, would that mean he would be biting its eyeball in the process?

He casted another glance around him once more. If he closed his eyes, it would feel like any other kitchen. The warm coffee smell, the clinking spoon as it stirred inside the mug, a radio chatting up a symphony in the homey atmosphere.

But everything looked different even though everything's the same. Roger frowned at his mug. He couldn't put a finger on it. It's not just the appliances and wares making faces at him.

"I do apologize for the mess, Roger," Wile said. "The company said I could have a flat or a facility –but not both."

The rabbit waved off his apology with his ears.

"Thanks for letting me stay and for the meal, Wile."

The coyote gestured him with his cup of coffee as he chewed.

"Hey," Roger said, "Do you know anyone who is looking for a hired hand?"

Pa said the best plans are the simplest, so his plan was this: 1.) Find a job, 2.) Find a place to stay and 3.) Look for his parents. Today was a good time to start; he'd rather not to impose on Wile.

The coyote paused, racking his mind. He shook his head.

Roger shrugged. He could always ask around. With the war over, jobs were abounding.

"Wile," Roger asked, warming his hands on his mug. "How come you hardly talk last night?"

The coyote drank down his coffee. "It's an artistic statement."

When Roger continued to stare at him, he sighed. "It's because I'm a man of action," he explained patiently.

Roger's whiskers twitched. "Really?" he asked, suddenly curious of what toons do in Toontown. Was it the same as in Kansas? "What do you do?"

Wile's yellow eyes swivelled to him and Roger suddenly saw something akin to a spark in them.

"What do I do?" the coyote asked, slowly rising from his chair. "Let me show you around!"

Before he knew it, Roger was swiftly yanked off his chair and dragged away. He looked at the coyote pulling him effortlessly, bewildered. For someone who looked like fur and bones, he had a surprisingly strong arm.

"Since the dawn of mankind, man had been obsessively painting on cave walls, jars and temples, trying to imitate life –imprint it. Jump forward to 1900s when we've got artists waking up to the very idea of actual drawings in motion like newly born babies opening their eyes for the first time-"

Wile continued to blather on but Roger wasn't paying attention. His eyes were drawn to the posters plastered on every available spot on an entire wall of the storage house.

Large fonts and enlarged characters tried to fight for his attention only to be upstaged by another. Felix the Cat Uses his Head. Steamboat Wille. Another New Popeye Comedy. Betty Boop and Bimbo.

Here and there were splashes of colored posters: Flowers and Trees, Snow White.

They were striding so fast, Roger failed to read most of them.

"Hey, is that-"

Wile looked over his shoulder to see Roger looking at "Porky's Duck Hunt."

"Ah, yes. Daffy's first film. I think he was amused that you didn't know who he was."

Roger's ears twitched. Daffy looked the size of an actual duck in 1937. That must have been some growth spurt. He tilted his head, almost with childlike wonder.

"I've heard about films. But I never watched one before."

Wile gave him a sideways smile with intelligent canine eyes. "Your town must be quite quaint. Theatre houses are abounding this days."

A glaring owner blocking the entrance, flashed inside his mind, waving him away. Angry voices of Pa and the owner echoed along with the confused sadness of the unexpected rejection.

"Something like that," Roger muttered.

He turned around to see more posters with Daffy's face in it. "So Daffy's an actor?"

"Oh, he's more than that," Wile said smoothly as he walked the length of the wall with a gentleman's grace. "Here."

Roger tilted his head at a logo of Daffy riding a flying missile with fierce determination.

"Daffy was also a 600th Bombardment Squad mascot and war veteran," Wile casually said, waltzing on with both hands on the small of his back.

Roger's jaw hung open. "Whoa..." he said, before catching up with the coyote. "But he acted so..."

Wile laughed at his reaction with a knowledgeable smile. "Looney? Don't be fooled. One doesn't become one of Mr. Schlesinger's biggest stars by being a complete and total daff."

The rabbit stared into space as his brain processed the newfound information. The manic eyes Daffy wanted him to see. The calculating stare that he finally revealed. He opened his mouth to ask-

"Oh, and here's one of Sylvester," Wile said, waving a hand on another poster.

A chuckle reverberated in Roger's throat at the image of Sylvester running away from a blue jay. "Are you also an actor, too, Wile?"

The coyote raised a brow. "Would be, but I'm in no particular hurry," he replied.

He tapped his head as they walk past by more posters.

"Now, where was I? Ah, yes. The artists mastered the craft of pictures in motion. Stop animation, comic sequences –no one came close until Winsor McCay let Gertie the Dinosaur out in the theatres in 1914! He was so close to creating life but he created a turning point for the other artists. He showed toons can _be._ Until in 1919, they finally evolved with Felix the Cat in the lead-"

Gradually, the posters bragged cartoon shorts "in technicolor." The Debut of Thomas Cat. Woody Woodpecker. Tom and Jerry. Wile was still talking when Roger finally pried his eyes away from the posters to pay attention to him.

"-they were fascinated! It was unlike anything they have encountered before! The moviehouses sold tickets like mad! Everybody wants to meet a toon! But as the artists became diverse in their talent, so did the toons. Some can do what others can't and vice versa! When Technicolor become available, people were astounded by the music, by the colors, by the sheer impossibility being possible! Roger, you have no –Roger? Roger?"

Wile whipped his head around to see that Roger was gone from his side. The rabbit was far behind.

Roger stared slack jawed and wide-eyed at the "Wild Hare" poster, its paper curling yellow with age.

The coyote walked back to him. Wile silently stood beside him as he observed Roger's expression, confused by his reaction.

"He's also a rabbit," Roger said, his voice filled with wonder.

Wile raised his eyebrows in surprise. What could have been this rabbit's life, not knowing there are others just like him?

"His name is Bugs Bunny," the coyote said in his most diplomatic voice. "One of Mr. Schlesinger's biggest stars."

Roger's ears twitched at the tone of Wile's voice. It resonated with utmost respect.

"Are there other rabbits like me?" he asked, looking at his furry hands. He never saw anyone with furry hands like his. Unless he counted their house cats a dogs. But Roger got long fingers instead of paws and claws.

Are they just as tall as him? What are the colors of their fur? Do they also have big feet?

Wile waved his hand off. "Toon woodland rabbits, anthropomorph rabbits, many. They're very popular to humans."

The coyote noted the sudden grimace appearing on Roger's face. He decided not to point it out.

"Didn't you see the other rabbit posters?" he asked, pointing at the black-and-white section. "Oh, wait. We're too far already. Here, I keep one in mint condition."

Wile suddenly produced a poster from behind him and unfurled it.

"Oswald the Lucky Rabbit in Trolley Troubles" stood brazen in large fonts as-

"Those are rabbits?" Roger asked, tilting his head. Then he grinned, "They look more like _puppiesth!_ "

Wile rolled his eyes. "Don't let Mr. Oswald hear that. I heard he's been bitter ever since he was overshadowed by his little brother."

Blue eyes widen in curiosity. _Who knew there are so many rabbit toons?_ "Who?"

"Mickey Mouse," Wile replied.

Roger looked at him in confusion.

But Wile talked on as though he hadn't said anything strange. He furled the poster and it disappeared behind his back.

"As I was saying, as the artists became more diverse in their styles, so did the toons."

He began to tick off his brown furry fingers. "MGM wolves can transform into whistling steam engines to demonstrate their lust but others can't. Popeye can punch through anything but others can't. We, Warners, can shrug off almost anything but others can't. Disneys can hear an invisible beat, a rhthym, you may say, that others can't!"

His arms gesticulated in the air, "How come some toons can do what others can't? We know what we can and can't do, but how do we do it? What's the logical explanation, the mechanism behind all of it?"

Wile's head whipped towards him. Roger startled when he suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, eyes burning with excitement.

"No one had ventured in that road before. Not even the artists! We're in the dawning age of a new era for toons; there is so much to know!"

Roger couldn't tell half of what he's saying. What do artists have to do with toons, anyway? But the fervour coming from Wile himself was infectious that he grinned excitedly himself, nodding in encouragement.

Wile led him to a curtained section. "You asked me what I do for a living."

With a dramatic flourish, the coyote yanked down a rope for the curtains to reveal a floor-to-ceiling drawing board. The green surface was almost white from chalky diagrams and equations that Roger couldn't comprehend.

Although he might have seen what looks like a stick figure being bludgeoned by what look like a fat version of a hammer.

"Jeepers!"

Wile smirked. "I'm pioneering the science of Toon Physics."

He walked inside the area and Roger followed.

"Thankfully, the Toon Town hall has permitted me to keep films inside Toon Town." He gave Roger a sidelong glance, "Human objects are not usually permitted inside Toon Town, I'm afraid. Viewing section over here." He goes to another parted section to reveal a white cloth for a screen and a battered-looking projector.

"Since the productions haven't decided yet on what role I could fit into, I'm quite happy to research and study." He puffed up his chest. "I'm not a super genius for nothing, you know."

But then his shoulders slumped and he began to pace back and forth with a hand on his chin.

"However, viewing cartoon shorts is not enough. I need a live specimen. I need other toons besides us in Leon Schlesinger's Productions. I need outside toons for comparison analysis. I need-"

Wile suddenly stood ramrod straight, his ears and tail stood erect momentarily. He looked at Roger as though suddenly seeing him for the first time.

"You."

Roger, who had been listening to his monologue, simply blinked.

"Huh?"

Wile suddenly appeared in front of him, grabbing the rabbit's shoulders. "You were looking for a job, are you not?" Wile asked, yellow eyes manic with zeal.

Roger backed away but Wile just stepped forward with his hands still on his shoulders like another uncomfortable version of Tango.

 _He wasn't like Daffy, he said_ , Roger thought for a second. "Um, yeah but-"

"No, you won't do. You're too imbibed in the laws of human physics!" Wile suddenly said, letting him go to pace back and forth some more.

Roger looked around to see that they have somehow walked into another section of the warehouse. He closed his eyes, inhaling.

It smells strongly of both aged books and freshly printed ones. Dust motes hang suspended in the shafts of sunlight. Books were piled high like a multitude of pillars as though a giant child had been curious how far he can stack before it falls over.

There was a springing sound like a released coil in a bed mattress when Wile stood up straight again, his ears and tail, sticking up.

"Unless!" he cried, a lightbulb appearing on top of his head.

Roger's jaw dropped from his spontaneous reactions, wondering when he could get over toon oddity. He thought he was imagining the lightbulb but Wile only tugged its little string to turn it off and it disappeared as it appeared.

Wile grinned, the excited gleam back on his yellow eyes. "That sly, old duck! He really meant for me to take you all along!"

He dusted the imaginary lint off his fur as he stood properly before the rabbit. "Roger, I have a proposition for you."

Wile waited for a moment for the old "proposition" joke to be mentioned. But Roger only looked at him in a mildly bewildered manner.

"Roger, how would you like to become my… research assistant?"

The rabbit hesitated. "What exactly would I do?"

Wile waved his hand. "Assist me in my research, clean-up after experiments, errand boy. But most important of all," his eyes gleamed as his voice grinned with innovation, "You'll be taught how to toon."

Roger tilted his head. "You guys kept mentioning that."

"Because you're capable of it! You just don't know how!" Wile cried, remembering the spiked drink incident. "You're untapped potential, Roger. It's time to for you to know what you can do! Test your limits! Break through!"

Excitement burned from the coyote's very core, the fire burning in his eyes. He smacked his fist in an open palm. "It's a win-win situation. You get to learn how to toon and I get to confirm or reject my theories. The principles that underlie in our abilities to defy human physics!"

Roger stared at him. Does tooning means being able to dodge Toon Town's crazy drivers? For that, he might be interested.

"But I'm afraid I can't pay you. Budget's low," Wile said, deflating. "But you will get free food and lodgings."

The rabbit looked unconvinced. Who wouldn't be?

"Tell you what," Wile rubbed his chin, biting his lip thoughtfully. "No strings attached. If you found a job and want to quit then you can quit. But till then you can be my research assistant… volunteer."

Roger frowned. He doesn't want to take advantage of Wile's generosity. But it doesn't seem right to work for just food and shelter. He'd need money in the future. Besides, the sooner he could find a stable job, the sooner he could find his parents.

Jaded onyx eyes stared at him from his memories, no longer foolish or manic. A voice reverberated inside his head.

 _If you're going to live in Toon Town, you'll need to learn how to toon._

Could Daffy be right? He remembered the blurring vehicles, the incomprehensible traffic. If he couldn't survive simply crossing the street, how could he survive the rest of Toon Town?

Roger looked at Wile. The coyote smirked when he held up a hand.

"I'm in."

Furry white hand clasped a furry brown one and they shook. Blue eyes regarded yellow ones with equally solemn understanding.

Wile grinned, canine teeth showing. "Splendid! But first, you need to get out of those clothes."

"WHAT?!"

 **XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

"I'm pretty sure Wile didn't intend to harass you on your first day at work," Jessica said in her most impassive voice while she restrained a quirk in her lips.

Roger rolled his eyes. "Who wouldn't react like that, anyway? He could have said I should go get some toon clothes!"

"I couldn't believe your first job in Toon Town was being a research assistant," she said.

"Tell me about it. Herman rolled off this couch, laughing."

Jessica let out a chuckle that was rarely heard outside. "Roger, I hate to interrupt. But I really need to go."

Roger glanced at the clock. "Is that the time already? Jeepers!"

"How about I come back someday this week? I'd really love to hear what happens next." Jessica stood up, her purse swinging on her arm.

"You do? Sure!" Roger hopped down the couch, bouncing to open the door for her. "How about Friday after filming?"

"Ink-and-Paint Club night shift."

"Thursday night?"

Jessica smirked mischievously. "It's a date."

Roger rolled his eyes. "Haha, Jessica. You really know how to pick a guy." He hopped after her. "Here, let me walk you to your car."

They walked in a companionable silence. In the dim lights, Jessica let herself smile. Silence like this was always filled with the guy furiously trying to impress her, bragging and flirting and ending up looking more foolish at the minute. But with Roger...

The rabbit was humming a tune with a hop in his step. She caught his eye and he just smiled before looking away, humming on.

Funny how people always regarded him as the idiot.

"There's just one thing I don't understand," Jessica said when they finally reached their car. "How come you didn't know how to toon before?" she asked, letting a hint of disbelief escape from her initial immense internal reaction.

Roger shrugged, "I dunno. Wile had a few theories though."

Jessica got in her car and started it.

"Well, see ya!" Roger said with a rigorous window-washer wave as though they were miles apart.

Jessica stared at him. Then much to his surprise, her hand shot out of the window and ruffled his hair. His foot reactively thump repeatedly on the ground when her fingers rubbed the spot behind his ears.

A chuckle escaped her as she retracted back her hand. Roger looked rather surprise but he just shrugged and smiled.

Jessica drove off, letting her eyes watch him disappear into a tiny dot in her rear view mirror.

She always thought tooning was instinctive. What could have happened that Roger didn't know how to toon before?


	7. Hidden, Forbidden but Unremembered

**Chapter 4: Hidden, Forbidden but Unremembered**

John's body clock woke him up at exactly five in the morning.

Bleary eyes blinked, adjusting to the purple tones of light and darkness. He immediately sat up to prevent succumbing back to the sandman's spell. A farmer always had a long day ahead of him and he got no time to waste.

His mind immediately goes to its to-do list despite the remaining sleepy haze. The tractor needed to have its oil change. But first, the cows have to run around the barn to keep warm. Roney would be coming by later to get the last load of vegetables. He must have been thinking loudly that his wife stirred beside him.

"'Morning, hon," said a voice, croaky from sleep.

John grunte-

"MAMA! PAPA!"

A squeezing sound could be heard from the door and with a "Pop!" four-year old Roger appeared.

Before both could comprehend what was going on, a little body was bouncing on the bed, shaking them to full consciousness.

"First day of school! First day of school!"

John immediately got out of bed to avoid getting sick. But all that energy squeezed in Roger's small, fluffy being made the bed bounce so hard, Diane found herself bouncing along.

"Roger!" she laughed as she sat up. Diane held out her arms and caught his weight equivalent to a basket full of chocolate Easter eggs.

A smile tugged on John's mouth. Having a surname like Rabbit wasn't easy, especially when you're a farmer. John worked hard to be taken seriously and often faced the world with the same softness of a rock.

But as the sun's first rays lit the room, it seemed like their son had taken along the sunshine with him to wake them up.

"Today's the day, right? I'm going to school, right?" he asked excitedly, eyes bright and fluffy tail swishing.

Diane exchanged the brief glance with her husband before lifting Roger up with a smile. "Yes, dear." Their son had even dressed himself up today in a red shirt and blue shorts. Since he never liked shoes, they gave up trying to make him wear one.

Their son gave an exhilarated giggle when she tossed him up. "You're going to nursery school today!" she said, rubbing her nose affectionately on his.

"C'mon-c'mon-c'mon-C'MON!" little Roger exclaimed, hopping off her arms to drag her down the stairs.

Laughing, Diane dug down her heels before Roger would become a blur with her in tow. It happened to John once and he had to lie down for half an hour to get over the shock.

"Go to the kitchen, honey. We'll be there soon," she said, plopping him outside the bedroom door.

With a whoop, their little son streaked into the kitchen with a resounding zoom.

Diane casted a glance to John over her shoulder. His mouth was set into a determined line and she knew he can see the worried lines creasing her face.

"It's going to be fine," he said.

She nodded, tying on a bathrobe over her nightgown. "Yes, it will."

Whoever they were trying to convince, they weren't sure.

 **XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Roger's face was plastered against the car window.

"Honey, you're going to flatten your nose," his mother's singsong voice speaks up from the passenger seat.

Roger peeled his face off the window with a "Pop!" and squirmed excitedly on his seat.

Last week, Ma had announced that he's going to school.

" _What's a school?" he had asked._

 _His Ma beamed so it must be something good. "It's a place where you can sing nursery rhymes, fingerpaint and play all day with the other kids! Wouldn't that be fun?"_

Roger bounced lively at the thought that the couch squeaked and strained. He nodded vigorously at the memory. He loved fun.

Their car screeched into a halt next to a small wooden house. Roger's eyes widen at the multitude of kids running and screeching and laughing in the grassy yard.

They all got out and Ma took his hand.

A wave of nervousness swept over him at this strange new world as they walked inside the building.

John held his head high against the stares of both parents and children. Some were stopping at what they're doing to watch them –or particularly…

"Roger," Diane said, "remember, If you need anything; just asked the teacher. She's a lady who will be with you and your classmates all day." Diane stroked his hair for moment as he looked around with wide-eyed wonder.

"Yes, Ma," he replied politely, oblivious to the stares he was gathering.

They went inside and turned to a corridor crowded with parents and children around Roger's age.

Roger's ears perked at the sound of singing. A child laughed at the sight of his cottontail swishing happily.

"You must be Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit."

A lady walked towards them. She looked down on a piece of paper she was holding and ticked it off with her pen. She shook hands with Diane and John.

"Call me Diane," Diane said warmly, "And this is John."

"I'm Claire, your son's teacher."

Internally, Claire braced herself. It was obvious who they are at a single glance.

Three weeks ago, she was informed of a special case. She had heard of a toon living near town but she never believed it. After all, a radio program said they were kept somewhere where they rightfully belong.

She kneeled down on one knee. "And this must be…" her face became confused when the toon rabbit suddenly disappeared.

Blue eyes tentatively crept up to meet hers from behind Mrs. Rabbit's legs. Two long ears swished over his head. There was a faint smell of what she could comprehend was a cocktail of paint, cinnamon and carrots.

"Hello," a small voice said. Diane gently pushed him up front and he slowly came out from his hiding, shuffling his floppy feet. His blue eyes smiled shyly up to her through large, swishy ears. "I'm Roger!"

She had to stop herself from melting over the living stuffed toy.

"He rarely gets to meet other people," Diane explained apologetically.

Claire nodded. _Big surprise in there_.

"Well, Roger" she brightly said. "Want to sing some songs with the other kids?"

Based on her experience, there were two kinds of kids. The ones who cry and refused to be moved and the ones who were brave enough to go with a friendly stranger after some coaxing from the parents.

But the little rabbit beamed like a sun and before she knew it, he had hugged and kissed his parents and dragged her inside the nursery room.

Claire stood with her limp hand connected to a bouncing kit, trying to comprehend how the world had blurred for a moment.

Gathering her wits, Claire gently pushed him to the throng of kids gathered around Brit, another teacher. Some of the kids looked at him curiously but Brit tapped her stick, getting back their attention.

"Alright kids! Who here knows Mary had a Little Lamb?"

Amidst the yells of confirmation, Clair looked back to the door. The parents lingered to watch but most were already leaving.

She took a deep breath. The supervisor had especially summoned her to tell her one clear order: Keep an eye on the toon.

Frankly, she wondered why the rabbit was allowed in the town's White school in the first place.

 **XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX**

You have to be extra-patient as a teacher, Brit knew that. But it was also fun.

First, you have to show them how to sing the song. Sometimes, a line had to be repeated again and again in a loud, lilting voice to attract their little ears.

"Who knows the song, 'Do your ears hang low?'"

"Meeeee!" the children screamed.

"Okay, let's sing it!"

The air was soon colored with voices singing with gusto. Those who didn't know the song immediately caught on with the song's tune and simple lyrics.

When Brit was sure they know the song, she quieted them down.

"Okay, I want you to grab your ears –do your ears hang," she unclasp her ears and waved them down in front of her, "low?"

She waved her hands from side to side, "Do they waggle to and fro?"

"Can you tie them," she rotated her arms around each other before pulling them apart, "In a knot?"

She repeated the movements, "Can you tie them in a bow?"

"Let's do that one more time," she said to the throng of children.

"Tie them in a knot." The children swirled their arms and pulled them apart.

"Tie them in a bow!" she exclaimed in approval as the children repeated on cue.

"Can you throw them o'er your shoulder," she pretended throwing her ears over her shoulder. "Like a regimental soldier?" she sang with a salute. "Everybody salute like a soldier."

She grabbed her ears. "Do your ears hang," she threw her arms down, "low?"

Brit beamed at them. "That's very simple enough. We can all do that, can we?"

"Yeah!" the children chorused.

"Alright! Let's sing it!"

Meanwhile, Roger looked curiously at his ears, holding them at length. The song was a bit new to him.

The little tots sang with great enthusiasm, copying her movements upon her cues.

" _Do your ears hang low?_

 _Do they waggle to and fro?_

 _Can you tie them in a knot?_

 _Can you tie them in a bow?"_

Roger bounced along with the melody, doing the actions while holding his ears. His voice soon joined in harmony with the children's voices.

 _Can you put them over your shoulder like a regimental soldier?_

 _Do your ears hang low?"_

Brit clapped in approval. "One more time!"

Roger beamed back among the kids, catching on with the song that was now sang with a faster tempo.

One by one, the singing children curiously turned around to a more rhapsodic voice.

" _Do your ears hang low?_

 _Do they waggle through and fro?"_

Roger sang as he stretched his ears down, then it snapped up to wave in the air.

" _Can you tie them in a knot?"_

Roger's ears twisted together before tying into a ribbon on top of his head.

" _Can you tie them in a bow?"_

The children laughed. Feeling something swelling inside him, he tossed his ears backwards and marched in place before thrusting his chest with a salute.

" _Can you put them over your shoulder like a regimental soldier?"_

" _Do your ears hang low?"_ the children sang back.

Brit was about to quiet them down but the children who knew the second verse continued to sing, their eyes on Roger.

" _Do your ears stand high?_

 _Do they reach up to the sky?_ "

Encouraged, Roger grinned and his ears cocked higher.

 **XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Claire sighed as she strode through the corridor back to the Nursery Room. It was hard to use children's bathroom for having such low stools, she'd rather use the one found in the far end of the school for faculties.

The teachers who were in the ladies' room tried to get something out of her concerning her toon ward. But she just waved them off; she had enough on her plate regarding the supervisor's order. So far, nothing unusual had happened.

Happy voices singing with zest creeped out of the closed door. Nothing out of ordinary.

She opened the door for a not-so-ordinary sight to welcome her.

" _Do your ears stick out?_

 _Can you waggle them about?"_

The children were festively singing and acting the song. In the midst of it all was the little toon, zipping and zooming and bouncing over their heads and everywhere –he almost turned into a pack of rabbits. Her eyes widen when his ears dance along like another pair of arms.

" _Can you flap them up and down_

 _As you fly around the town?"_

The children trilled their delight when the rabbit was momentarily lifted up by his flapping ears. He bounced back singing. His arms gestured up and down to the bouncing children like a maestro as they sing along, infected by his energy.

" _Can you shut them up for sure_

 _When you hear an awful bore?_

 _Do your ears stick out?"_

Both grown-ups startled when a fiddle began to play along with their singing. They looked around in alarm before realizing the music was coming from the very rabbit himself like a radio.

But the children only laughed in delight as they flung their arms in melodious enactment. They all sang in gleeful harmony with Roger as the eye of the ever-growing storm of music and energy.

" _Do your ears hang low?_

 _Do they waggle to and fro?_

The rabbit began to doo-wop along with the song. Claire wondered if Roger's parents were part of a closet glee club.

 _Can you tie them in a knot?_

 _Can you tie them in a bow?_

"Yeah!" the baby rabbit exclaimed, spinning on the spot. Merry voices sang on with fervor.

 _Can you throw them o'er your shoulder_

 _Like a regimental soldier?_

"Yesiree!"

 _Do your ears hang low?"_

Claire and Brit got over their shock when the children collapsed, laughing. Some are still bouncing and holding their ears.

Then they all broke into an applause.

Roger stared at them with wonder as a glow began to warm him in the inside.

Their smiles, their laughter, all directed at him was changing something, turning him into something.

It was like the sun dawning inside his mind. A summer breeze lifting the kite higher and higher. The discovery of carrot cake in his taste buds.

The glow spread through him, lifting the corners of his mouth into a wide smile at the warm ovation.

He never felt so alive.

Claire watched as the little rabbit beamed and opened his arms wide as though to hug them all. Knowing toons, she'd rather not risk it.

"Break time, kids!"

 **XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

The children sat on tiny chairs and tables.

Roger happily munched on his apple. He loved school. They even give milk.

His eyes went to the children gathered on one table across the room. He looked around, realizing he was alone on his table. The teacher had ushered him here on the table on the corner.

When he said he wanted to sit with the others, the teacher said this was his special table. It felt a bit lonely but it's okay. The teacher said they can play after Break Time.

After eating polishing the rest of his apple, Roger went for the shelves. They even got a lot of toys.

He pulled out a box full of wooden blocks. At home, Ma always helped him build castles and towers. He concentrated in piling them as high as he could.

"You're a rabbit."

Roger turned at the voice. A little girl was looking at him while holding a doll. He gave her a big grin.

"I'm Roger Rabbit!"

The little girl frowned. "Rabbits don't go to school."

He looked at her in confusion. "I'm in school."

A little boy clutching a toy train soon joined them. "How come you've got long ears?"

Roger beamed. He knew the answer to that one.

"Because I was born thi –aahh!"

The little boy had suddenly yanked one of his ears.

"Hey! He's stretchy!" he exclaimed, getting the attention of the other children.

Feeling both curious and envious, the little girl tugged his other ear.

"Hey!" Roger protested.

But more of them grabbed his arms, pulling him apart.

"He is stretchy!"

"Wow, he's so furry!"

"I wanna touch him!"

"Grab his leg!"

"Me first!"

"He's so fluffly, I'm gonna die!"

"The tail's mine!"

"Aaaauugghh!"

Claire who had been busy taking care of a tot with a nosebleed, raised her head at the commotion. She gasped at the sight of the rabbit being stretched almost to the four corners of the room among the pulling, yanking children.

"Kids! Let go of the toon!"

Her voice boomed. Surprised, the children let him go. Unfortunately, one kid was a little too late to let him go and Roger flung towards him like a rubber band.

"Oof!"

The boy got knocked down on the ground. But Roger sped past, still burning with momentum. He bounced against the wall to the ceiling and ricochet everywhere like a bullet.

The children screamed when he blast near their heads. Chairs and tables were knocked down and up-ended, vases shattered and the cabinet crashed at his inertia.

He finally rolled on the floor, stars swirling around his head. He shook his head and the stars disappeared to reveal a shocked audience before him.

He looked around at the broken vases, the scattered children's furniture and the messed-up posters on the wall.

He caught the wide-eyed fear of the teacher as she clutched some of the huddling kids.

A wail broke out. Followed by another, wanting to hug the teacher. One child shouted.

"Bad rabbit! Get out of here!"

Fear gripped him there. The air was thick with it. The room was filled with glares and tears.

"Yeah!"

An eraser board flew at him; he dodged as toys, trash and anything they can reach hurtled towards him.

In blind panic amidst the shouting and the throwing, Roger turned tail and ran.

Right through the wall.

 **XOXOXOXOXOXO**

It all happened in less than ten seconds.

CRASH!

Principal Briggins startled out of his incoming nap.

"What in tarnation-"

Screams can be heard outside. He hurried to his window and gasped.

The explosion hadn't yet settled when a bur streaked across the playground.

Little children scattered everywhere as the blur hit a swing seat and dragged the whole swing set along with ease, harrowing deep gashes on the ground.

He could only watch helplessly when the blur slipped between the slide's ladder and the slide.

The swing set did not.

CRASH!

Hands cupped his ears at the tremendous clash. More children screamed. But the blur even went faster as it hit the wooden fence.

Splinters flew everywhere as the blur, swing set and slide crashed through it.

The blur finally slipped through the chains of the swing set and disappeared into a meadow.

Mouth hanging open, hair suddenly disheveled; Principal Briggins could only stare at the chaos before him.

 **XOXOXOXOXOXOX**

"Doggone it, John! This is the reason why I don't want him in the school in the first place!"

Roger sat, white as sheet in his mother's arms. They were inside the car. But Roger could hear a truck coming from north-west-west a mile away. He could hear a mouse sneeze to the east in the meadow. Three building from the school's left; he could hear clinking dishes and running water.

He could definitely hear a man's voice along with his father's inside the building.

"He was scared, Tom! That teacher should have been looking after the children better!"

"He was scared? He was SCARED? What about the other children, John?! Jeezuz! Do you think they got scared?!"

Roger's lip trembled, feeling worse than before. He curled against Ma tighter.

Had he been bad?

He had been bad. He was sure of it.

The man sighed and Roger can feel the stress on that exhale.

"Look, it happened. The parents will NOT be happy."

"My son has the right-"

"Do you know what will happen if they found out your kid blasted through a wall, two playground properties and a fence?" the man interrupted. "Everyone thought there was a bombshell!"

There was a squeaking noise like cloth on glasses.

"There would be a scare, John. Out of the kids' mouths and those parents would be marching in, demanding to have your son removed. Be thankful nobody got hurt with his blast. There were children playing _outside_ when it happened."

Silence met the man's words before Pa spoke.

"If he can control it, it won't happen again. We'll make sure of it."

"If," the man interjected, the stress sounding out the punctuation marks. "I only agreed to this because you're my friend, alright? You're lucky I got this place insured. If you really want your son to be schooled, transfer him to the one for Coloreds."

Roger could hear Pa ground his teeth. "I scouted it, I hated it. Their facility is lacking at the most."

Roger sank lower in Ma's arms. He's in trouble, he knew it.

"Look," Pa's voice said. "If he can control it, can he go back here? I just want the best for him."

The man's voice turned cold. "If you want the best for him, you should have returned him back to ToonTo-"

"Shut it," Pa growled.

Roger whimpered at the threatening sound, burying his face in Ma's neck.

 **XOXOXOXOXOXO**

The drive back home was a silent one.

Diane looked worriedly over her shoulder. Roger was hunched over his seat; ears drooped down to their lowest point. He had always been a sensitive boy.

She looked at her husband whose hard eyes were steady on the road. She never told John but she could tell Roger could palpate other people's emotions. He could even tell her when one of their farm animals were sick, satisfied or pregnant based if they were happy or sad.

Even behind John's stoic mask, she knew their son could sense his mood.

The problem was he wouldn't know why.

She reached out to Roger with a comforting hand. He looked up.

Diane smiled at him. _It's not your fault, honey._

Her baby gave her a weak smile before retracting back to his own world.

When they reached the house, she led him to the kitchen for some homemade chocochip cookies and milk.

John went to his study and didn't come down until dinner time.

 **XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Roger sat on his bedroom floor, playing with his toys. His "beddy" bear was a cowboy and he's about to chase down the bad guys.

Bad guys.

Had he been bad?

"Son?"

He looked up to see Ma and Pa on the doorway. Pa sat on his bed and patted the space beside him. Roger immediately scrambled on the spot and Ma sat on his other side.

"You won't be going to school for a while," Pa said.

Roger felt himself relaxed at those words. He didn't think he could face them tomorrow.

"There's a fire," Pa continued, "and it would need to die down."

Roger nodded although he didn't see any fire. "Okay."

"Hey, honey," Ma said softly, "do you want to know a new song?"

His ears perked up. "A song?"

"Yes, dear. It's actually a nursery rhyme. Your father made it."

"Sure!"

His father took a deep breath. "Okay, Roger. Repeat after me."

 **XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Diane watched Roger as he skip rope. He bounced more than twice his height while singing; the rope rotated several times before he touches the ground.

" _Whatever comes up must go down_

 _No one blurs when they run around the town_

 _No living thing can bounce like a ball_

 _No living thing can survive a fall_

 _No big thing can fit in small_

 _It will hurt when you run on a wall_

 _All of these are impossible!"_

"What's the matter, honey?" John asked, standing beside her.

She sighed. "I don't know, John. I feel like we're cutting off a part of him."

John squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, his jaw tight. "It's the only way he could stay with us, Diane."

Roger's school incident had spread in town like wildfire. Many have went to school to see the damages caused by a tiny toon.

Days passed by. The rhyme's catchy tune made Roger sing it over and over again. Time goes by as the rhyme took heart.

His bounces become lower and lower.

One day, he could only jump as high as any little boy could.

Roger ran, tugging John along, no longer a blur.

"Papa?" Roger asked in confusion at his father's sad face.

But John only shook his head. "Nothing, son. What is it that you're going to show me?"

Life goes on and they have him home-schooled, mainly by Diane.

John and Diane deliberately threw all their magazines with toons with it. They avoided tuning the radio with programs about toons. The town's newspaper, thankfully, have no comic strips.

Since most shopowners wouldn't allow coloreds _or_ Roger into their shops, Roger never risked seeing a comic book.

When a theater house was built in town, they didn't let Roger go with them when they know a cartoon short was showing.

Roger's incident was never mentioned again.

And Roger never remembered.

 **XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Roger woke up with a gasp.

 _Go to the bathroom. Now._

Heart pounding.

Breathe rapid.

 _Not again._

He scrambled out of the hammock. In the darkness, he could see Wile still and sleeping.

 _Not here._

 _Not here._

Straight into the safety of the bathroom, he locked the door.

Roger leaned against it and slowly slid down the floor, hugging his shaking frame.

Gasping, he tried to control his breathing.

 _In._

 _Out._

 _In._

 _Out._

His heart was pounding painfully against his chest.

Fear was clutching him, making it hard to breathe; choking him.

Roger bit down on his ear, focusing on the pain, grounding him to reality.

 _It's not real._

 _It's not real._

 _There's nothing there._

His chest rose and lowered as he fought for control.

Eyes started to sting.

Fear. Confusion. Fear. His eyes widen, refusing to close. If he did, he'd see the dark abyss inside his soul, consuming him.

Teeth bit down harder on his ear.

 _Shut down._

 _Shut down._

 _It's the only way to make it stop._

 _Numb. Think numb._

The overwhelming fear was there again. Like a person standing too close behind you. He shivered.

Wide eyes become blank. Knees started to ache against the cold tiles. One hand on his chest, he raised the other, looking at his shaking hand.

 _Not again._

 **XOXOXOXOXOXOXO**

 **Author's Notes** : John doesn't know it but he had applied a mind-control technique on Roger: whatever is repeated again and again becomes a commonly held belief. The phenomenon is called **memory distortion**. A chant can even block the analytical part of the brain, forcing it to accept the chant's message.

I hate to say it, but according to my research, color segregation was strong during Roger's time. So yeah, the teacher meant well, but she's also a racist. It's just how it is.


	8. The Storm Behind the Smile

**Chapter 5: The Storm behind the Smile**

 _Post-war, 1945..._

Roger sighed as he plopped down on the floor.

The week so far, has been hectic. But he was glad for the diversion.

The first day that he got to work, or volunteer as Wiley said (since he's not really getting paid for it), he was introduced to the coyote's obsession with details.

" _This posters have been driving me crazy. I have arranged them in chronological order. But now, I want it arranged by studio and chronology. The Merry Melodies on the top, Looney Tunes below that, followed by Disney-"_

 _He looked down on his notepad and almost shoved it to Roger's nose, distracted by his own eloquence. The rabbit scanned it as Wiley continued talking._

" _-we'll have to take all of 'em down and start all over. I would have used toon speed but human posters get torn easily."_

Apparently, that took them the whole day until it got the coyote's satisfaction.

The second and third day consist of organizing Wiley's stupendous book collection and films. Again, the books and the films each had a system that Wiley wanted them organized in. He even opened a box of carpentry tools that could act on their own.

" _Treat these tools like you'd treat anybody else." Wiley said, handing Roger a hammer who gave him a friendly smile. "Be nice to them and they'll work for as long as you need them. Toss them carelessly or in anger, and they'll bounce right back at you for being rude."_

Roger had made friends with the carpentry tools when they were making some extra shelves. Wiley said it's their nature to be friendly. But they have no use for names or close bonds outside what their nature makes them partial too.

The screws and the screwdrivers have a closer bond than the other tools. The hammer tended to tap the nails like a chastising parent when they dance around too much.

The fourth day contains… the challenge. At least that's what Wiley called it. Roger wondered how they could even organize the mountains of props. That's was still what they are trying to do right now.

"Roger!"

Said rabbit turned around to see Wiley walking over with his eyes on his clipboard.

"Yeah?"

Wiley lifted his eyes to see the rabbit beam an upbeat grin, picking himself from the floor. "We're going to have some people over to help us today." If they're going to get down to the experiments, they would need to clear the space needed as soon as possible.

"Oh okay," Roger said, "who-"

The door of the warehouse opened with a bang. A cat with a big red nose strode across the floor, dragging a pig in a blue dinner jacket and red bowtie.

"Hey Wiley!" Sylester said. He grabbed Roger's hand and joined it with the pig's.

"Porky, Roger. Roger, Porky," the cat introduced, shaking the joined hands.

"It's nee-ni-na-na-nice to meet you, Roger," Porky said in a jerky stutter.

"It's ni _th_ e to meet you too," the rabbit replied, pronouncing "nice" as quietly as he could.

The cat leaned slightly to Porky. "Don't mind him. He' _th_ shy becau _THE_ of hi _th_ li _sp-uh!_ " Sylvester said in an audible whisper.

Roger looked at him, confused. "I c-can hear you," he said without vehemence.

"Yeah." Sylvester waited for his comeback.

When Roger only blinked, Sylvester rolled his eyes. "Roger, you don't di _ttthh_ ect a joke! It dies _th!_ "

"I'm not dis _th_ ecting-"

"It's a fi-fa-figure of speech, Roger."

"Oh."

The feline then walked past them, shouting. "Wiley! I thought you got rid of his human clothes! He's better off running around naked like us!"

Roger immediately covered himself with his arms. Porky caught his eyes and offered an apologetic smile. Roger smiled back, finding himself relaxing around the pig. "And yeah, I stutter s _th_ ometimes," he told Porky with a shrug.

The coyote put his clipboard behind his back and it disappeared. "Well, Roger is more comfortable with clothes and as you know, I don't have any to lend him.

Sylvester looked behind his shoulder to the rabbit. "It's hanging out there, huh?"

Roger was spared from answering when the cat turned around once again. "Alright! We're here for dinner! What's cookin'?" He smacked his lips.

Wiley's forehead wrinkled. "Please don't tell me your selective hearing kicked in again. I asked you two a week ago if you'd like to help before dinner."

"No, you didn't. You asked us if we'd like to have dinner."

Wiley sighed before glancing wryly at Porky. "If you may…"

Porky looked up with a distracted expression. Roger's mouth hanged open when the very air Porky was staring at wavered like a dream. The space suddenly materialized into Wiley, Sylvester and Porky as though looking through a window with hazy edges.

" _-would take me forever to get the warehouse cleared. I hate to ask but would you like to come over for a help-over party? I'll be making dinner for your troubles. Just give me a week to sort things out," projected-Wiley said._

" _I unda-undeh-understand, Wiley," a sympathetic Porky said. "Right, Sylvester?"_

 _Projected-Sylvester looked up from the middle of making sounds with his armpit against a timer._

" _Huh? What?"_

 _The projected-Wiley smirked. "I'll make sushi."_

" _Okay!"_

The very air wavered again and the projection vanished. Porky shook his head like a dog shaking water out of his ears.

"I hate it when you use Porky's flashback on me," the cat said, crossed.

"That's because they're accurate," Wile replied, "and with alarming clarity." He waltzed off from an argument won, his tail swishing.

Sylvester followed him. "Fine. But you owe me sushi tonight!"

"Aren't ye- aren't yi- aren't you coming, Roger?" Porky asked.

Roger rubbed his eyes at where Porky's flashback was. "Can everybody do that?!"

The pig chortled. "I'm an old tee-ta-timer, I guess."

Roger kept silent, trying to imagine himself creating memories for everyone to see. He shook his head. No, he couldn't do that. It's impossible.

"Geez, Wiley! Where do ya get all this _th_ stuff?" Sylvester asked, looking up to the behemoth piles around them.

"They're old props from Mr. Schlesinger's studio, remember?"

The cat tapped his foot and jumped when a cabinet tried to trap his tail. "Why did you choose to live in a dump again?"

Wiley rolled his eyes. "Let's just start organizing, shall we?"

He gestured the cat and the pig to come closer. "Alright, we'll sort the lighter things first."

The coyote glanced at Roger. "Roger, if you may, can you please stay over here?"

"I don't know how you always talked us into this," Sylvester grumbled as they faced the clutter.

"Charm, wit and stupefying genius," was Wile's proud reply. He each handed them a sharp pin. "Ready?"

In unison, they each position the pointy end near their rear.

Roger cocked his head to the side. What are they-

"YEOW!" The three suddenly ran off with their legs speeding so fast, their lower halves blurred into wheels. Porky seems to be slower but Wiley and Sylvester zoomed.

Together they zipped, snatched a prop and put it in its proper shelf. After that, they position the pin to their rear again and blast off with a shout of pain.

Stupefying genius.

"Hey, Wiley! You know who'd be better at this? Daffy!" Sylvester's voice said. He was moving so fast, he seemed to be leaving his words behind. "OUCH!" he cried as he pricked himself again.

Dust scattered at their heels and through the zooming, Roger could hear Wiley's exasperated voice. "I know but he's not here, is he?"

Up. Right. Down. Left. Left. Roger's head jerked to follow their movements.

"Pity we couldn't zoom in more than a minute," Wiley sighed as he leaned one hand on the wall. His chest rose and fell. He compared the bags to the props before them. "But I think we can finish this."

"Yeah," Sylvester muttered, rubbing his bottom, "Unless the joke wears thin, that is _th._ "

Roger gaped, his hands gesticulating in an attempt to form words. He then dropped his arms. Was he supposed to be able to do that too? It's impossible. He's fast but not that fast.

By mid-afternoon, all of the smaller props were shelved. Roger stood there, feeling rather useless. It didn't feel right when he's already freeloading with Wiley.

"Wiley! I thought you asked us to help! Not make an expedition!" Sylvester whined, looking up from a mountain of props.

"Then think of it as an adventure," Wiley said coolly, dragging a lamp out of the pile.

"Fine. But when I get to the top, I'm going to claim that as Mt. Sylvester!" he cried, producing a flag with his face on it.

"Can't you use your toon speed for this _th_?" Roger asked.

Wiley chuckled. "No, Roger. We can't be fast when we're carrying something heavy."

"Why can't you be super strong? You're already super fast."

Sylvester began to howl in laughter but Porky elbowed him –hard.

"We-weh-wa-we could only be strong for three seconds tops. Perfect for bludgeoning," Porky explained. "But for stuff bi-bee-bi-bigger than furniture, we used ACME tractors."

"HEY FELLAS!"

They all looked up to see the cat standing heroically on top of one of the piles, the flag flapping in some unknown wind. Roger stared at him, wondering where the patriotic music was coming from.

Until Wiley took a prop on the bottom of the "mountain".

The giant pile suddenly shook and the part where Sylvester was standing collapsed..

"Oh dear," Porky said, when Sylvester rolled down with the avalanche.

Both pig and rabbit flinched at his every cry of pain as he bounced off several hard objects before landing into an undignified heap before them.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Sylvester," Wiley sympathetically said, a mischievous glint on his eyes could be seen from a mile. "I didn't know that would happen."

The cat threw a stool at him. Wile dodged with ease.

Unfortunately, the stool bounced off stove and hit a closet. The closet tittered...

"Uh, Wiley..."

WHAM!

"Wiley!"

"Don't worry," Porky told a worried Roger, "That's how me-ma-most of us are around each other."

"Yeah, Roger," Sylvester said, confused, "We've been trying to make you laugh this whole time." Roger hurried to lift the cabinet off Wiley.

"B-but aren't you two hurt?" Blue eyes surveyed both cat and coyote for bruises and found none.

"I'm okay, Roger!" the coyote dusted himself off, "We could just shake it off, remember?"

Before Roger could respond, Sylvester's red nose blocked his nose. "Yeah! My fall, wasn't it sssssss _tttth_ pectacular?!" Sylvester asked.

Understanding dawned in Roger's eyes as he wiped off Sylvester's spit from himself. Distractedly, he could feel himself nod.

"It…" he turned to Sylvester, "was actually funny."

The cat beamed like Roger just gave him the biggest compliment of the day.

They continued to work after that. He glanced at the other three as they all haul larger props into organized piles. Wiley would sometimes instruct, Sylvester would gripe and Porky would stutter. Wiley would scoff, Sylvester would sass and Porky would placate unless provoked.

One thing he find out, they like hearing others laugh at their jokes.

"A comedian doesn't laugh at his own joke, Roger," Sylvester explained, "That would be like a dog sniffing his own a-"

Porky coughed.

"-behind."

In the widening space, the carpentry tools and construction material were making sections where the storage area will be. Roger glanced at the open blueprint beside him.

A quarter in the warehouse shown was the living quarters. The other quarter was for the library and viewing section. This also includes Wile's giant chalkboard. The quarter that the toon tools were building was the storage area.

Roger looked around. The one they are standing on was going to be the testing site. Whatever, Wiley meant by that-

"Roger!"

He glanced up to see Wiley pushing a cardboard box toward him.

"I think these are gags, but I'm just not sure what. Kindly open them and sort them out too, will you?"

When Wiley left, Roger tried to look for the toon scissors who was always happy to help. He came up empty.

Padding over to the kitchen, Roger looked for something that he can use.

Then he saw it –a knife inside one of the drawers.

Roger took it and turned it over, noting that it doesn't have a face. It almost looked like a knife back at home. Again, there was something different about this toon knife that he couldn't placed with his mom's kitchen knives.

Shrugging, Roger hurried to open box. Working around the slit, all he has to do was-

"OW!"

His yell echoed throughout the warehouse, stopping the activity.

"Whoa, Roger, you okay?" Sylvester asked as they all come closer to the rabbit.

"I cut my finger," Roger replied, showing up his hand. He grimaced as blood ran down fingers and palm. "Ow," he hissed.

"Is that… is that blood?" Wiley asked, his voice sounding small.

"Yeah," Roger popped his finger inside his mouth, oblivious. "Once, my Ma-"

He looked up at the sound of three soft thumps.

"Wiley! Sylvester! P-porky!"

Porky was slumped over an Indian Cigar stand while the two were passed out on the floor.

"Jeepers! What am I going to do? What am I going to do?!" he cried, hopping on one foot to another.

 **XOXOXOXOXO**

Sylvester awoke to the sight of rabbit slapping a sleeping pig.

"Porky, wake up!"

Said pig was resting against the wall. Sylvester looked around, realizing he's also leaning against it. His eyes widened at the sight of Roger's innocently bandaged finger.

"YOU BLED!"

Roger turned around, relieved to find Sylvester conscious.

"Jeepers! Thank goodness _th_ you're awake!"

"YOU BLED!"

"Ugh, Sylvester, kindly quiet down."

The cat turned around to see Wiley rubbing his temple.

"HE BLED!"

Wiley leaned one hand against the wall, his eyes distracted. Sylvester turned around to Roger again.

"YOU BLE- umph!"

Someone grabbed his mouth, along with his round red nose.

"Roger, I'm going to calm Sylvester down. Do try to wake Porky up," Wiley said. Without further ado, he dragged the cat to the kitchen.

He looked at the shocked Sylvester in the eye. "Yes, he bled. But try to keep it down."

When he was sure the cat has his wits again, he let go of his lower face. Sylvester grabbed the counter and took a deep breath.

"Toons are not supposed to bleed!" Sylvester hissed in a hushed whisper.

"I know. But he did and until I find out why, I suggest this doesn't go out." They both looked out of the window.

"Toon Patrol," Wiley said quietly, the two words that was all the reason why.

 **XOXOXOXO**

"I'm really _th_ orry about t-that," Roger said, shamefaced.

After waking up a pale Porky, he caught Wiley's eye and knew immediately that this is going to stay among them.

"No pre-pra –don't be," Porky said, patting the regretful rabbit on the shoulder.

"We're just not used to seeing blood," Sylvester said, deliberately sitting beside Roger's _uninjured_ hand.

They were all seated in the viewing room in a sofa that came from the props. After they have regrouped, Wiley decided they have done enough work for the day ("Fffffffinally!" Sylvester cried).

A wonderful smell pervaded the room and Wiley entered carrying three plates placed on his upper arms and forearms and a tray on top of his head

"Tada! Bon a petit! And yes, Sylvester, a platter of sushi for you."

The cat let out a whoop and Roger was handed a bowl of ratatouille. He was forever grateful Wile had no qualms that his assistant was a vegetarian.

"Thanks _th_."

Wiley put his hand behind his back and whipped out a roll of film. "Alright, are everybody-"

"Wowza!" Sylvester suddenly snatched the film from Wiley's hand. "You already got your paws in this?"

Roger looked over his shoulder to see the title labeled on the side: The Three Caballeros.

"Hey! I _th_ aw the poster of that one!" Roger exclaimed. His hands immediately flew to his mouth and he cleared his throat.

Sylvester rolled his eyes at the rabbit's embarrassment for trivial things.

"Anyhoo, I thought you're gonna show him the Merry Melodies _th_!"

Wiley made a great show of properly taking the film from Sylvester, eyeing him pointedly. "Well, if Roger's going to be visually stimulated on tooning, we may as well start with the mediocre."

Roger looked around at their sudden reactions. Porky gasped, his twirly tail straightening up. Sylvester made an air-sucking gasp that inflated his chest.

"Ooooohh…" he mimed getting shot at the chest, "through the heart."

Before Roger could ask, Wiley had the film on the reel and the show began.

 **XOXOXOXO**

Porky, Wiley and Sylvester both looked at the rabbit as the film ended. His eyes were twinkling with wonder like the film had just showed him worlds unknown.

"Roger?"

"That… was… FANTAS _TH-_ TIC _!"_ Roger leapt into his feet. "Did you see that? When they jumped into the book? When they fly in a magic carpet? When they –when they grow big and small and whipped up those thingamagjigs?"

He spread his hands to the air. "When they float and fly with the stars? When they-"

"When they cavort with all of those _chicas_?" Sylvester waggled his brows.

"-then when those things danced and they sing in other languages…" Roger ran his hand over his hair, "I've never been anywhere! And that movie," he pointed the screen, "showed me a lot! I think it showed me the world!"

Porky chortled at his fascination.

The rabbit began to gesticulate. "There's Brazil and Mexico and the North Pole and- that was the best film ever! Can we watch it again?"

"That was the first film you've watched," Wiley explained patiently.

Sylvester looked over his shoulder to the coyote. "Ya gotta admit it, Wiley, their latest movie they have is good."

"If you liked art films that seem made by suspiciously stimulated artists," Wiley retorted.

Roger was snapped out of his post-film wonder. "Huh? What?"

Sylvester rolled his eyes. "Nothing. Wiley here reads too much books so he has _th_ a lot of conspiracy theorissss _th_."

Wiley "hmmph!" and scowled, folding his arms across his chest.

Porky cleared his throat at the dark storm clouds brewing. "Wi-wee-wa-well, before it's time for us to go, I would like for all of us to get a photo," he said, producing a handheld camera.

"Oh sure!" Sylvester chirped.

In a whirl of black and white, everybody found themselves squished together by Sylvester's lengthened arm and his other mitt holding Porky's camera.

" _SSSSSSSStttth_ ay CHEE _SSSTTHH_ EE!"

 **XOXOXOXOXOXO**

Roger hummed "The Three Caballeros" happily. He hopped on time with the tune.

" _We're the three caballaros, three gay caballeros, they say we are birds of the-_ "

He suddenly stopped singing at the pensive coyote beside him.

They were cleaning up the dishes after the dinner. Wiley squeezed the sponge, his expression thoughtful.

Roger put away a glass and cleared his throat. "I like Porky, he's nic _th_ e."

Wiley looked up as though being snapped out of his thoughts. He turned to looked at him.

"He seems like a mellow fellow," Roger continued, "He doesn't act crazy –I mean, you're not crazy. Sylvester and Daffy act crazy but they're not crazy… I think. You do too. I m-mean you are normal but sometimes you're not. BUT DON''T WORRY!" He waved his arms around like he's trying to dissipate Wiley's supposedly negative reactions. "I still-"

Wiley smirked at Roger's flustered rambling.

"Roger."

The rabbit immediately shut his trap.

"It's okay to call us crazy. Normal is not a prerequisite for toons."

"Oh," Roger said, sheepish.

Wiley washed the suds off his hands. "Porky, however, can be extreme when driven up the wall. You don't want to get a mellow fellow mad at you."

There was a silence as Roger wiped the counter. Wiley went back inside his own head, trying to make sense of the bloody rabbit fingers inside his head-

"We're not human, are we?"

Wiley looked up to see Roger finding the counter very fascinating.

"We're not," Wiley replied, wondering where this was coming from.

"So what are toons then?"

Wiley mentally shrugged, deciding factuality was the best policy.

"Toons are thoughts manifested."

He was rewarded with Roger's most bamboozled expression yet.

"Huh?"

The coyote sighed. "Toons are artist's thoughts manifested into this existence –the three dimensional world instead of a two dimensional world."

There was an awkward silence when Wiley realized he still sound too technical for the rabbit.

"Toons are made of ink and paint and came up from the paper and live here."

Roger laughed. Wiley stared.

"Jeepers, Wile!" Roger grinned at him. "I know I don't know much about toons but I do know their images are easier to capture by hand."

Wiley continued to stare at him blankly.

"Wile?"

The coyote ran a hand over his head. "Let's watch another film."

 **XOXOXOXOXO**

Roger sat with mouth hanging open.

The credits rolled and Wile turned off the projector, returning the film back to a case labelled "Out of the Inkwell."

Roger blinked, trying to understand what he watched. There was a clown named Koko and an artist, Max Fleischer. The artist drew a clown that moved on a paper. A fly came and the clown grabbed the artist's pen and swung it about, splashing ink on the artist in the process.

The film ended with the artist tipping the clown out of the paper and back into the inkwell to become ink again.

Before Roger could say something, Wiley put in another film called "Alice's Wonderland". She went to a drawing room of a guy that Wile said was Walt Disney. Then she watched artists draw toons on paper where they move on it like they were a part of the flat surface. Then they came out oh-so–casually, watching the artists draw some more.

"We..." his voice sounded strangled, "... are drawings?"

Wile put a hand over his chest. "We, the Drawns, are their thoughts manifested. Grawns are born from Drawns. It took some years before Drawns were made with voices and colors."

Roger looked down on his hands. "We're... ink... and paint..."

It finally made sense now. Why his fur was unlike animal fur. Why toon household objects looked somewhat different than normal. Why Ma and Pa forbids him to open paint thinner.

His parents haven't lied. They simply left it out. On purpose.

Again.

Wile's brows furrowed at Roger's troubled expression.

"Perhaps we should continue with the cleaning," he said, hoping that would distract the rabbit.

 **XOXOXOXOX**

Wiley looked worriedly at the rabbit restlessly working in the corner. He dropped his gaze down on his clipboard again. A long exhale came out of his mouth. Maybe he should have told Roger in another way.

"Do you need firewood? I need to chop firewood," a tersed voice asked.

Wiley looked up to see Roger had materialized beside him. Yellow eyes took note of his wide eyes, the tensed shoulders. "Well, I-"

"Firewood!" he burst out, looking queasy.

Wiley whipped up an axe from behind and pointed him to a thick bundle of logs lying against the wall.

"Thanks _th_ ," Roger said, grabbing the axe.

With a swing of an axe, he embedded a log on it and carried the log on a thick prop stump. Making sure that the log was stable, he let the axe loose. The log cracked. With another swing, the log got chopped into two. Picking up a halved log, he made it stood before splitting it. Roger kept his eye on the splintering wood.

Satisfied that Roger was preoccupied, Wiley turned his back. His foot lifted to walk away when a lispy voice spoke.

"When I said goodbye to my Ma and Pa, I never told them; you know. I never told them it's okay because I don't know if it's still okay," Roger said casually.

The log split into two. Roger mechanically picked another one using his axe. This time it only took one hack. Pick halved log and hacked. Log and hacked.

"The day I found out I was adopted, I dry-hurled at the toilet bowl while they bang on the door asking me if I'm okay."

The hacking became more savage. The tremors travel to the stump with each hit. The axe lunged upon the wood. His arms worked expertly at the repetitive motions.

"The last time I saw them, I couldn't even look at them in the eye –how can I?!" he burst out.

He missed the last log and the wedge sank on the stump with force.

Wiley wordlessly gave him a rolling whetting stone from his hammerspace.

"I'm so stupid! I should have known! Everyone's a human and I look like a rabbit on two legs!"

Roger didn't even notice where it came from and just placed the blade against it, peddling the wheel. Sparks began to come out as Roger glared at it, blue eyes reflecting back the sparks.

"Gen'tic defects!" he exclaimed like an oath.

Wiley whipped out a packet of Acme's Forest Grower and tossed a seed on the ground, sprinkling it with water. The little seed shot up into the ceiling into a flourishing tree.

Roger whipped his axe, not questioning why there's a tree inside the warehouse and began to hack it with personal vengeance. His chest began to rise and fall with each swing and bite of metal.

"And this is making me a terrible person! I know I'm acting stupid right now! They loved me, they took care of me! And this is how I'm paying them?!"

Splinters and shreded fiber flew at each whack. But Roger chopped on

"I left them to look for my actual parents who dumped me! Why am I so awful?!"

A toon would have fallen the tree already with that much rage. But Roger's whacks were relentless in their damage.

"BUT. THEY. STILL. SHOULD. HAVE. TOLD. ME. EARLIER!"

Wiley flinched, not from the physical strength displayed. Humans pale in comparison with toons in angry outbursts. Roger was no different. It was the fact that the rabbit had been so subdued the entire week.

"People were always acting like they're afraid of me or something! And I don't even know what I ever did to them! You know what they say to their kids? Stay back! That's the toon!"

Maybe he should have planted a forest. Wiley pity the tree trunk that looked more charred than chopped.

"What did I even do to those them? Is it because I'm less than human to them? But Ma and Pa still have me despite all that and here I am, yelling about them!"

The axe was becoming blunt again and the tree was getting chopped more from brunt bashing than sharp cutting.

"I'm not their son but I'm still terrible at it! I don't even know who I am anymore!"

With a final hack, the axe's wedge sank on the wood.

Roger's hunched figure stood motionless, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. Silence's hand wrapped its stiffling fingers around the room as everything stilled.

Even Wiley couldn't move. Helplessness. With each breath of a second, Roger seemed more and more out of reach. Wiley looked away. Back to him. Away again. Back to the rabbit, raising a finger to speak. Paused. Lower it down as he cast his words aside.

Roger finally spoke.

"If I'm not a human," he wearily lifted a hand at the word. "If I'm not really a rabbit," he brushed a hand to his chest. "If I can't toon... then..."

He looked up, not really sure who he was asking. "Then what am I?"

Wiley stared. Roger's eyes were wide and unblinking as though trying to accumulate the rising water in them.

His hand suddenly grabbed his own ear and pressed it tight over his own eyes. Roger suddenly sat heavily on the ground, ignoring the poor tree beside him.

"I'm s _th_ orry you have to see this," he mumbled, one rabbit ear still over his eyes.

This time, the coyote's snout sank bonelessly along with his tail. His brain had been flying into action, thinking of a thousand and one solutions to the problem before him. But his brain that never failed him before; sputtered and came up with nothing.

He's a problem solver, not a heart-to-heart talker.

Wiley walked closer and with a mighty wrench, picked up the axe. He put it back to his hammerspace. Sweeping the sawdust and woodchips away with his tail, he awkwardly sat cross-legged beside Roger.

"Don't be. I'm glad you let it out of your chest," he quietly said.

A heartbeat. Roger sat unmoved. "I've always suspected you were adopted. No toons live outside ToonTown before," Wiley continued.

Still, Roger said nothing.

Wiley sighed. "Listen, I can't say I know what you're going through right now." He should have expected this sooner or later. Roger threw himself at work, not with a worker's dedication, but like someone running away from something. His thoughts.

He waited for Roger to look at him. "But I can understand anyone would need some time to get used to the fact that they are adopted... and not what they think they were before."

Both were silent for a while. "You thought you were a human for a very long time," Wiley said, almost with wonder.

Roger slump his face on his lap, yanking down his ears. A muffled voice spoke.

"I know. So stupid, right?"

Wiley shrugged. "How would I know, ol' chap? I don't have the imagination to know what your life was like."

Roger sat up, rubbing his arms. "I'm a freak. I don't belong back in Kansas _th_. I don't belong here in ToonTown."

The coyote's ears lowered. But then they determinedly straightened up.

"You asked, who are you, did you not?"

Roger looked at him with tired eyes.

Yellow eyes studied him before Wile stood up. He wasn't good at feelings, he would admit that. But facts and objective observations were his forte and he'd be damned if he couldn't help Roger with what he got.

"You're Roger Rabbit. A son of a perfectly good couple who loved you despite the alarming difference. A person who was brave enough to venture outside his home when he had never been anywhere else all his life for the sake of truth. My research assistant who says the darnednest things but does honest work for an honest pay –a true farmer's son."

He put his hands on his hips, his eyes, never leaving Roger's.

"Your parents raised you well. If they ever kept it from you, maybe they were afraid you wouldn't see yourself as part of the family. But what do I know?"

He saw Roger winced, as though slapped. Maybe he was right. Maybe not. He put his hand out to Roger and Roger accepted it. Wiley pulled him up, his grip firm and strong.

"To blazes if you're a toon or not. A human or not. You've got a family there... and here."

Roger stared at him.

"You'd be surprised at what consists in a Drawn's family," Wiley explained.

Roger laughed. He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, avoiding his eyes.

"You know, you're my first friend who isn't a farm animal."

Wiley raised a brow.

Roger continued to speak. "Since the town isn't exactly waving a welcome mat at me, I preferred the company of our farm animals." He scuffed his feet. "They don't talk much but I can relate to them most of the time."

"The last four nights you were here, those weren't the first times it happened, was it?"

Roger looked at him like a deer caught in headlights.

Wiley tugged his ears. "You're not the only one who got sharp hearing, Roger."

Roger looked away, squirmish. "They're like allergies _th_ , you know. Only t-they happen when s _th_ omething big happens and it's not sneezing. More like heart pounding and-"

"Tingling of the hands and fingers, hyperventilating and mind obsessively panicked? They're called anxiety attacks," Wiley deadpanned. "Suddenly discovering you're adopted with nobody to talk it with must certainly be a stress trigger."

Suddenly feeling naked, Roger rubbed his elbow with his other arm. "It _might_ not be the first time. I've always been a bit anxious _th_."

Wiley raised a brow, casting a glance at the grainy smithereens.

Anxiety disorders were surprisingly common. But despite being a super genius, he's not a psychiatrist to diagnose Roger. "Nobody knows what causes it, anyway. Could run in the family, trauma –the war was more than stressful, who knows?"

"Here, take this."

Roger looked down at what Wiley gave him. It was a photograph of them and Wiley and Porky, all mashed up to fit the photo's borders.

"Porky already got them developed and sent to me. That guy does everything properly."

Wiley smiled at him, cool and intellectual. But in those yellow eyes, Roger could see a touch of warmth.

"When you're ready to write to your parents, send them that to let them know you're not alone."

And then and there, Roger felt like something would burst and yet ease at the same time. There's a lot to say and yet nothing to say. He clutched the picture like a lifeline.

"Thanks _th,_ Wiley," he quietly said, those two words resounding what his mind couldn't word with justice.

 **XOXOXOXOXO**

 _Back to the present…_

Roger sighed, looking through the photo album. His finger lingered over a form of scruffy fur and thin frame, the ears and snout poking out angularly.

Telling Jessica of the old days made him faced some questions that he never got an answer.

The rabbit gazed out of the window and instead of seeing the dark night, he saw sad eyes reflected back on the glass.

 _Have you forgiven me yet, Wiley?_

 **XOXOXOXOXO**

 **Author's Notes:** I've always suspected Roger has an anxiety disorder. Anxiety disorders differ from person to person. A lot of people have anxiety disorder but can live normally with counselling and support.

Anxiety attacks or panic disorder are experienced by some people with anxiety disorders caused by triggers. They are episodes of intense panic or fear that the person feels as if they're going to die or lose control. They last from ten to thirty minutes and the physical symptoms make people think they're having a heart attack. After the attack is over, the person worries about having another one where he is in public where help isn't available or can't escape.

I hope that answered your questions of Roger waking up in the middle of the night.


	9. Do You Still Feel the Same Way, Roger?

**Chapter 6: Do You Still Feel the Same Way, Roger?**

"Roger, you look like shit," Herman calmly stated.

Said rabbit giggled as though he wasn't really all there. "I'm fine, I'm fine," Roger woozily said with a wave of his ears. His eyes were bloodshot. Purple bags adorn his zombified expression. His whiskers are wilted and even his ears don't seem to have the energy to stand upright.

Herman's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Roger's such a delicate pansy, he'd protest at one little "damn". Yet, his potty mouth just went through the rabbit's head.

Roger drunkenly stepped forward like toyboat in a langorous ocean. His mouth gaped like a cavern in a monstrous yawn.

"It's just that, Cheri needed someone to talked to."

Herman looked away. She's here already, huh? He savored his cup of coffee. "See, Roger? That's your problem. Women are like money."

"Huh?"

He waved his cherubic hand. "If you work for money your whole life, money will master you. Arrange them in stocks, merchandise or royalties, you then master money."

"Huh?"

Herman rolled his eyes. The idiot is a paragon when giving love and friendship like free candy. But talking to Roger is like throwing rocks against a wall. He gave him a pointed look, poking Roger at his pink nose with each word. "Don't. Be. A. Slave. To. Mone- Hey!"

Poppins had suddenly appeared, yanking away his nice mug of coffee. She pointed him into the set's pantry room.

"There's a newer mug of coffee waiting for you there. Out."

Herman glared at her. Why did he hired this belligerent young woman again?

"3 spoons of cream, no sugar with a shot of Scotch. Just the way you like it," Poppins continued. She then frowned, she never approved of alcohol.

The nanny watched her grumbling little employer walked away. She then gave the mug to Roger.

"Sit," she ordered. Roger was nothing but obedient.

She sighed, composing herself as Roger settled in a chair. "Roger, can I tell you a story?"

Roger beamed, bringing a little bit of brightness in his sleep-deprived, dull fur. "Sure!"

Poppins snapped her fingers, a chair sliding in the nick of time as soon as she lowered herself.

"Once upon a time, there was a flower."

Roger wiggled a bit. "I love stories," he said for no reason.

"Like most flowers, she's colorful and bright. So beautiful that people would always take a second glance and bees would hover around her."

"Uh-huh."

"But this flower is in love with a sun lamp."

Roger laughed.

Poppins serious eyes remained on him. "This flower spends most of her time with the sun lamp. She rejoices at his light but... day after day, her petals began to wilt."

"Because it's not the real thing," Roger remarked.

The nanny nodded. "Right. So the flower left and went outside to find sunlight. And the sun… he loves that flower. At just one glance, he knew she's something special and gave her light until her petals unfurled. Her stem straightened strong and proud. Her colors brightened."

"I knew it!" Roger said.

"But after she got all the sunlight she needed, she went back inside the dark with the sunlamp."

"What? Why?"

"Because she's in love with the lamp," she stated factually. "The sun would miss her when she would leave. But he can't do anything about it."

Roger's expression became more baffled. "Huh?"

"And so that's what would happen. The flower would spend her time with the sun lamp trying to catch his light with her leaves. Until she would wilt. After that she would go back to the sun. The sun who would be so happy to see her, that he'd give his all. And when her needs are full, she would leave him again for the sun lamp."

The rabbit blinked, waiting for her to say more.

"The end," Poppins said.

"But the sunlamp couldn't give her what she needs," Roger said.

"What some suns and flowers want aren't really what they need."

"That's silly. Sunflowers face whatever direction the sun is because they know its good for them."

He felt a touch of concern at the flitting, not-so-smiling pull on Poppins' lips. His ears curled into question marks. "No happy ending?"

"Perception has no ending," Poppins replied. "Even in death."

Roger blinked, fiddling with his mug of coffee. "Okay… uh..." He hesitated at the grim falter of their conversation. Then he brightened. "Thanks for the s _th_ unny story, Mary!"

Her eyes hardened sternly. "Stop being punny, Roger."

Roger laughed. If they were sitting side by side, he would have elbowed her arm.

"No, really," Mary insisted with a frown.

The rabbit downed his coffee in one gulp before hopping away. She watched him disappear, her mouth a straight line.

 **XOXOXOXOXO**

Roger startled from his nap. There was someone knocking on his door. He tumbled on the floor before springing up.

"Coming!"

He opened his door. "Jessica!" he exclaimed. He glanced outside. "Jeepers! It's night already!" He glanced at her before looking at the calendar. "I didn't know it's Thursday today."

Jessica blinked. "I'm sorry. Did I come in a bad time?"

Roger shook his head, his ear accidentally swatting a fly. "No! It's just been a busy week. With the filming and Cheri wanting to go s _th_ omewhere and Cheri wanting s _th_ omeone to talk to last night and Cheri needing-"

Jessica frowned as Roger talked. How come it seems like Cheri is taking up a lot of his time? But then again, she's here in his trailer.

"-I didn't realize it's already our night-out! Uh… night-in?"

She shrugged her bare shoulders and followed him to his living room.

"I'm really am glad to see ya, Jessica! It's been a while since I saw you in the s _th_ et!"

"Me too," she murmured as Roger zipped off to the kitchen. She sat on his couch as he returned with carrot cokes on each hand and his ears carrying his scrapbook.

"How was _th_ your week?" Roger asked.

She reached with one hand for her drink, the other for the scrapbook that his ears are giving her. "So-so," she replied. Modelling shoots, singing at nightclubs. Mr. Acme asked her out but she declined for Roger's tale.

He hopped beside her as she opened his scrapbook. Jessica felt her brows pull together momentarily at seeing the next photo of his story.

 **XOXOXOXOXO**

 _Post-war 1945…_

A woman screamed. Then there was a hiss of a swinging purse.

"OW! For the love of Warner, I'm not a wolf!"

Roger hanged back as Wile clambered up from another purse whack. He rubbed a monstrous goose egg that would give Roger a heart attack if he ever saw that on his Ma. Wiley strode irritably down the street.

In the midst of swaying lampposts, Roger gingerly tried to walk beside him. Easier to say when his body is screaming protests at his every move. Lead-heavy legs. Aching tummy muscles. Stinging shoulders. A stiff neck. They're screaming utter betrayal at the sudden loaded effort demanded on them this morning.

"This is a reason why I hate going out," Wile muttered before taking a deep inhale.

"Wolves couldn't be that bad," Roger said. He let his ears stretched themselves, the only ones he was pretty sure that doesn't hurt.

Wile stared at him and made a mental note to let him watch an MGM short. They really need to get Roger to ditch the human tweeds and get toon clothes. If he's going to be his lab assistant, he'd be running errands in the future. Roger doesn't need to stick out like a sore thumb and attract unwanted attention. Toon Patrol attention.

"We're here," he replied, stopping in front of a thrift shop.

Old black-and-white toon clothes. Loud colored outfits that sears the eyes. Patched fabrics with huge seams. Outrageous fashions that fall from classic to modern. All piled and hanged in a chaotic display inside the shop.

"Grab an outfit," Wile said, pushing Roger upfront.

"But Wiley, you really don't need-"

"You're my employee, Roger, and part of my investment. Go," he said, shooing Roger away.

He watched the rabbit hesitantly enter the jungle of clothes. If he's going to teach Roger how to toon, his body must be able to perform the stunts toons can perform.

 _Roger huffed, his head bobbing over a bar before disappearing. "W-wiley! Why are we doing this again?"_

" _Count, Rogger!"_

" _3!" his head disappeared under the bar again._

" _Remember to count at the exhale!" Wiley coached._

" _4!" he gasped, shaking as he appeared over the lever. "F-five..." he croaked._

" _And time's up! 5 chin-ups in one minute," Wiley said, clicking a stopwatch in his hand._

 _Roger let go of the bar. He grunted as gravity shot him to the ground, spreading tremors through his body. He couldn't care less as he lay down on the wooden floor._

 _He wiped sweat from his eyes. His body felt hot. Sweat was sticking in his white fur that was already clumping from moisture. He was pretty sure his nose that is usually pink, is also red from exertion. Roger glanced at his friend who was taking notes in a clipboard._

 _First, Wiley had made him dash around the testing site. He didn't mind that. Then he had made him lift weights, adding more and more until he could barely lift it. Then push-ups. Then in a bicycle. Then squats. Then chin-ups._

" _Why?" he gasped between lungfuls of air._

 _Wile suddenly startled, looking down at where he had collapsed._

" _You see, Roger, we'll need to improve your body first. Have you heard of the Overload Principle?"_

" _Aah… no?"_

" _It's when you slightly add more load than what the body is used to. So if you can handle 20 pounds right now, we'll do 25. When you can do 25 with no sweat, we raise the bar again."_

So far, his training consists of weightlifting and running and sets of exercises in the hope to prepare his body.

"Ta-dah!"

Roger appeared before him wearing a blue set of baggy overalls.

Wile cocked his head. Not very eye-catching but it will do.

"This reminds me of the times I work in our farm!" Roger exclaimed, pulling at his suspenders.

"Roger, what wrong behind you?" Wiley asked, walking around him with a scrutinizing stare.

"Huh?" He turned around. "Oh it does have a hole on the bottom but I can s _th_ ew it!"

The coyote shook his head. "No, Roger, that's for your tail."

One rabbit ear raised in exclamation. "Really?" He twisted around in circles, trying to fish his tail out of the ripped bottom hole. Then he stopped, put both hands behind him and began thrusting forward and backward, grunting.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Wiley could feel toons stopping to stare. No, he is not going in there, stand behind the rabbit and pull Roger's tail out of his pants. He coughed. "Just press the bottom of your suspenders against your backside, Roger."

Roger grabbed the fabric around his hips. With a grunt that wasn't exactly soothing for the ears, Roger's tail popped out of his pants hole.

"Roger?" Wile asked. For whatever reason, the rabbit was frozen at his thrust.

Cottontail swished at the still rabbit. Up. Down. Hesitantly up. Then down. Left and right. It circled clockwise. Then counterclockwise.

Roger then stumbled, catching himself before he fall flat on his face.

"I… feel so free," he said, looking at Wile as though he suddenly discovered a secret of the universe. He looked behind him, his backside still thrusted out. His fluffy tail waved at him like a happy puppy. Without thinking, he waved back.

Wiley good-naturedly rolled his eyes. "Oh, Roger."

Purchase paid, they walked out of the store with Roger's human clothes in a bag. Behind Wile who was too busy with his notepad, Roger practically strutted. His hips would sweep to the direction wherever his free little cottontail would swish. He grinned, basking at his little freedom. It felt so liberating! He had always worn his underwear a bit low in the back to let his tail breath. But he couldn't do the same for his pants. Had he been wearing his trousers wrong all this time? No wonder he always felt squished!

His head bobbed along with the rhythm of the swinging shops. Yet keeping a close eye at the traitorous roads. The memories of being in the midst of blaring horns and screeching tires were still fresh.

"Keep up, ol' chap. We got work to do," Wiley called out over his shoulder.

Roger hummed in agreement, feeling a bounce in his step. He happened to look at his right...

Then he saw her.

The air seemed to rush. The world around him was suddenly lost with blinding light, awash with angels singing arias in another reality.

Long ears fell over her shoulders and spilled down to her waist, fluttering behind her from an unseen wind.

From faraway, time became meaningless. Space lost their significance. The universe constricted into the ethereal creature before his eyes.

Her lashes batted as blue doe eyes blinked. Honey brown fur shimmered when slender calves peeked out from a modestly length coral skirt. Pink nose lifted into a serene inhale and her lips par-

Someone was waving a hand to his face.

"Hello? Earth to Roger?"

Roger startled and found Wile looking at him strangely.

"What on earth are you –oh" Yellow eyes widen in recognition as he followed Roger's line of sight.

"Why, if it's not my fellow colleague, Cheri."

Roger whipped his head towards him. "You know her?"

The coyote nodded. "Of course, Cheri's a researcher too. Let me introduce you," he said, grabbing Roger by the straps of his overalls with one hand.

Roger instinctively dragged his heels back. "I can't!" he squeaked.

Wile looked back at him, confused. "Why? It's not like I'm introducing you to the queen of England. It's just her." He effortlessly dragged him along.

Roger stared at her before his heart started doing the weird thumping again like it had grown rabbit feet on its own.

"Cheri!" Wile called out. The doe's head turned. "I'd like you to meet my research assistant-" he yanked his arm in front of him… and blinked when he realized he was only holding a pair of overalls.

He whipped around to see a barely-clad rabbit running away. "ROGER!"

 **XOXOXOXO**

 _Back to the present..._

"That's when you met her?" Jessica asked, staring at a glossy picture of the two rabbits.

"Yep," Roger said. He looked down, his hand scratching the back of his head. "She was right, ya know. It was my first time to see another rabbit. A girl rabbit."

Jessica tore her gaze away from him and back to the photo. Cheri exudes a calm, graceful confidence just by standing there. The younger Roger's shoulders were a bit stiff along with that discomfitted smile as though he couldn't believe he's standing right next to her.

 **XOXOXOXO**

 _Post-war, 1945_

Wile slammed the door open, irritation etched on his face.

"Do you have any idea how awkward it is to ask 'Excuse me, but have you seen a rabbit in human underwear ran by?''"

Roger grinned at him sheepishly. "Sorry 'bout tha-"

He was suddenly interrupted by his neatly folded overalls being pushed to his hands.

Wile walked past him, his spine ramrod in annoyance. "What was that about? Really?" he asked snootily.

Roger tugged the overalls off him. "I got shy, I guess."

"I thought you got lost. You have no idea how worried I was when I know you couldn't even handle crossing the streets," Wiley bit, his nose still in the air.

Rabbit ears drooped. "I'm sorry, Wiley."

The coyote sighed. "Never mind about that, meet me in the viewing room in ten minutes."

Roger sighed, getting the feeling that he let Wiley down. Ironically, not because he had been incompetent.

Sometime later, he was seated behind a desk in the Viewing Room. The film projector flickered and clacked.

Wile stood straight and scholarly. Besides the exercise regimens, he had also been exercising Roger's mind.

"Alright, Roger. What patterns have you observed in most of the Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies films?"

The rabbit fumbled with his notes. Wile had tried to ignore the state of his note taking. The scribbles were childish. The direction of his lines either goes up to Alaska or down to Antarctica. The order of his facts (Wile sighed) hurt his organizer's soul.

"Well… when s _th_ omeone crashes into a wall, they don't bounce back. They make holes of their exact shapes."

"Correct. What else?"

"Uhm… toon people can jump higher than humans."

Wiley buffed his claws on his coat. "And why is that?"

Roger flipped through his notes, his eyes not seeing them. His mind was too busy rifling through his memories. Sylvester getting frightened by mice axe murderers. Porky trying to get away from Daffy. A short, hairy ginger cowboy getting startled by gunshots.

"Fear," the rabbit said, looking up his notes. '

"Correct. All laws of gravity can be negated by fright. Anything else from your observations?"

Roger's brows wrinkled. There was one that baffled him the most. "Paintings can be entered by anyone 'cept the painter himself."

"Sadly, that is a problem of art, not science," Wiley replied.

The rabbit paused, shuddering at another memory. A horde of hopping, whooping Daffys flashed inside his mind. "And Daffy… are there more Daffys out there?"

"I can barely stand one," Wiley answered back. "Rest assured, there's only one. The faster a toon is, the more possible that he can be at many places at once."

He looked at the rest of his notes. Cats being poured like liquid. Toons not blowing into bloody chunks at exploding dynamites. Roger looked up. "Wile… it's nice of you to let me watch your collection of cartoon shorts. But I don't think I can do any of this."

The coyote raised a brow. "Roger you had tooned before."

He pointed at himself. "I did?"

"Yes. Back in the bar when Daffy gave you alcohol."

Roger frowned, crossing his arms. "That was still wrong of him."

"Don't you remember anything?" the coyote asked.

"Only intense pain," he sniffed.

"Roger, you flew 6 feet in the air with steam pouring out your mouth and nose like a kettle on overboil. You _can_ toon."

The rabbit laughed, looking away. But Wiley was suddenly in front him, clapping him by the shoulders. His eyes glowed like intense yellow suns.

"Other toons when given the same amount would just poof steam and that's it. You? You were like a storm of destruction, Roger. I've never seen anything like it." He poked Roger on the chest. "It's locked inside you and we're going to bring it out."

Porky having a visual flashback. Wile running so fast at a pinprick, he blurs. Sylvester contorting into harmful figures that should have broken his bones. Even lamp posts' bendable poles that were supposed to be metal.

Roger looked down on his furry hands. Can he really do all of that?

He clenched his fists. He wouldn't make a hole if he hits a wall. He'll only get hurt with a broken nose. He'll still be visible if he runs no matter how scared he is. And no matter how fast he goes? There will only be one Roger.

"Roger."

He looked up to see Wile looking at him with those cunning, yellow eyes.

"From now on, don't think it's impossible. You're only one apostrophe away from 'I'm possible.'"

 **XOXOXOXO**

 _Back to the present…_

"That was a nice peptalk," Jessica commented.

"Yeah, but knowing it here," Roger pointed at his temple, "and feeling it here," he prodded his own chest, "can be two different things."

"Studying toon physics from the Master Professor himself," Jessica said, placing her half-empty drink on the coffee table. "I didn't know you're such a scholar yourself."

Roger nodded in agreement. "And people always act surprised when they find that out," he replied, a fly buzzing inside his ear and coming out of the other.

Jessica gave a silent chuckle.

"But not Cheri!"

Roger straightened up, his floppy feet swinging up and down. "Cheri believes that anyone can learn. They just learn in their own way!"

He looked up, smiling, as though remembering. "People always think us toons act s _th_ tupid. But Cheri is one of those toons that can make them change their minds!"

Cheri again?

"It's nice, Roger, that you're such a devoted boyfriend to her."

Roger stared at her, the happy expression suddenly looking frozen.

"WHAT?!" he squawked, straightening up stiff, even his ears shot up to the ceiling.

Jessica cringed at the shrill screaming of steam rushing out of his red ears. His mouth sputtered spit and phrases as his hands uselessly tried to do something.

"Th-th- what- I mean -he -I -um- Jeepers! You got it all wrong!" he exclaimed, fine steam now rising from his blurring, crimson body. Blurring because he was shaking his head while waving his arms away. Even his ears are crossing and uncrossing in denial.

"I'm sorry, Roger, it's just that you spend so much time around her and the way-"

"She's not my girlfriend!" He was now moving so fast he looks like he was swatting away a rabid moth.

Jessica blinked, her figure a calm straight statue against the storm named Roger. "Oh. You just seem to mention her a lot."

"She's not!" he repeated. He yelped when the soles of his feet began to smoke. He hopped around, trying to avoid scorching his floor.

He finally resorted to flapping his ears like a helicopter. Meanwhile, Jessica passed by him to open a window. Steam immediately poured outside.

"I'm sorry," Jessica said.

He was looking down on the floor, his feet still floating. There was silence except for the quiet whir of his ears.

Jessica turned back to close the window. Behind her, she could hear him drop quietly on the ground. She mentally shook her head. Roger can get embarrassed over the littlest things. Ladies finding him cute. Herman's innuendous jokes. But never to this affected degree.

"She likes s _th_ omeone else."

She turned around. But Roger was now staring at the floor, his hands behind his back.

Eyes are said to be windows to the soul. While Jessica's gaze is veiled but penetrating, Roger never thought twice into looking into someone's eyes with that honest, open gaze. Yet she got this feeling that he wasn't looking at the ground to check on scorch marks.

"You liked her," Jessica stated. Roger flinched at her words as though he'd rather not let them touch him.

But he still goes where Cheri wants them to go. Still there for her when she needs him.

Just like him with anyone else.

So why does this feel different?

"Do you still… have feelings for her?" her traitorous mouth asked before her mind could approve it.

Silence. Roger looking down his feet. Jessica had a way of seeing people's thoughts in their eyes. Although Herman always said he was an open book.

He didn't respond. She looked away. It really is a strange sight to see him close himself.

"I'm sorry, Roger. I shouldn't have asked."

But then Roger finally looked up and Jessica was finally able to see his eyes: conflict.

"It's hard to know when she keeps coming back."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** there's a term for what we call people in Roger's situation. Guess what that is? Please don't forget to review or comment in this chapter :)


	10. What's Holding You Back?

**Chapter 7: What's Holding You Back?**

The electric railway train dinged, sliding to a complete stop in front of Maroon Cartoon Studios. In a passenger car that can seat 50 or so people, it limits 5 Black or Asian people and 3 toons. Unless, all seats are filled, they must give theirs to a new white passenger.

This is the reason why Jessica opts for an early schedule.

People poured out of the tram in front. A flurry of coats, hats and some shirts with their sleeves already rolled up. Finally, a slim high heeled foot daintily landed on the concrete. Followed by another. A smokey shade of jazz suddenly played as she stepped into the light.

Jessica tucked her hair behind her ear. Another day of filming.

She walked underneath the large sign of the studios.. Usually, the building would already be buzzing with activity at daybreak. Crews preparing to film so that when the director and the actors came, everything would be ready. But by the time the sun is already above the horizon, the flurry would increase.

Jessica strode past anthropomorphic sheeps waiting in line. Each hold a copy of a script, practicing their bleating. Forest animals scurried past, which she was pretty sure she saw in the movie Snow White.

Men were gingerly unloading crates from a truck. From the way they were carefully handling them, she could guess they were a new set of toon gags. The tooniness of objects did tend to incline to disaster for most humans. There was once a man that was accidentally flipped through the air by an anthropomorphic hippo. Ever since then, every human employee of the cartoon studios have health insurance.

She walked up the stairs and turned to the right-

"Jessica, my dear!"

She turned to see Marvin Acme coming from the left section of the stairs.

"Mr. Acme," she acknowledged with a nod.

"Dear, dear, no need to be a stranger. Call me Marvin," Mr. Acme said.

That might explain the new crates of toon gags. Mr. Acme's company max-produces toys, collectibles but mostly practical joke products that has a huge demand by the animation industry.

"Jessica, I just have the most _devastating_ delivery this morning. You returned the gift I sent you!" Mr. Acme said with a slight pout.

She bowed her head a little, giving him a polite smile. "I'm sorry Mr. A- Marvin, I just can't accept it. It's too much."

Mr. Acme never missed a night that she performs. Jessica would receive flowers, sometimes chocolates in heart-shaped boxes, delivered to her dressing room after her song.

She regarded him with a polite stare. Comical, eccentric with a love for toon gags, it seems that his love for tooniness also goes to another direction.

Mr. Acme shook his head. "Oh, my dear. Jewelry is nothing to me," he said, waving his hand. "You do de-"

That's when someone appeared over his shoulder, their tongue sticking out before disappearing.

"-serve the best. A high calibre star as you are-"

Roger hopped above Mr. Acme's shoulder level again. This time, pulling his ears with the most ridiculous expression.

"-need to be realized for their _enchanting_ performance-"

Roger appeared again above Mr. Acme's shoulder with a dignified expression. One long ear acts as a monocle, while the other was fitted under his nose into a fat moustache.

"-every night. You-"

He paused, suddenly sensing Jessica wasn't really looking at him. Mr. Acme suddenly turned around. But Roger had already stepped behind him. A innocent expression of childlike glee shone in his gin.

Mr. Acme faced Jessica again. "You were marvelous, my dear. That's why you deserve more than just flowers-"

This time, Roger hopped up again to tap him on the shoulder.

Mr. Acme instinctively turned his head. Then around. Roger simply kept pace, staying behind him.

Jessica stared, unsure of what to do. When Mr. Acme had his back on Jessica, Roger hopped up, tapping his shoulder.

"Wha-" he fully turned around, only to catch Roger Rabbit in his arms bridal style. The rabbit flung his arms around his neck with the most passionate nuzzle.

"Gee, Mr. Acme! I wished someone would give me flowers too!" he said, batting his eyelashes.

Roger heard a chuckle but felt a stab of disappointment. Jessica did laughed. But it wasn't her real laughter. Someone then pulled him by the ears and was gently dropped by Jessica beside her.

"It was nice talking to you, Mr. -Marvin. But we really should be going now," she said with a small cordial grin. Then she lowered her lashes a little, a surefire trick to get her way.

It worked. Mr. Marvin blinked. "Uh… sure, Jessica, my dear." He took her hand and bowed down to kissed it. "See you in your next performance."

"Bye, Mr. Acme!" Roger chirped, still waving his hand even though Mr. Acme's back was already turned.

Both humanoid and rabbit walked down the corridor. There was an inherent grace in the humanoid woman's walk. Her hips fluidly slink to one side then another with every cross of her legs.

Beside her, Roger walked with his large, floppy feet angled outward. He would almost waddle, his flat feet plopping on the floor. If the floor is smooth, he was likely to slide and crash into something expensive. If the floor has traction, Roger was most likely to trip and crash into something more expensive.

"When you were talking to Mr. Acme, I was envious, you know," Roger suddenly said.

She never tripped. But it was close. Her head whipped to him.

"I wished s _th_ omeone would give me flowers too!" Roger continued, looking wistfully up the ceiling.

Jessica stared. He paused. Then he snapped his fingers.

"Boy, I should make flower s _th_ alad, sometime! I bet you'd love it!" Roger exclaimed, hopping up and down. Excitement began to build in his eyes. "Are you more of a vegetable salad kind of person? Or a fruit salad girl? You'd be surprise how well Carnations go with anything! But I bet you're more of a Chrys _th_ antimus lady!"

Jessica paused her calming torrential thoughts, suddenly remembering something. "At the Maroon Gala last month, the centerpiece of our table went missing."

"Missing?" Roger paused. "You mean, that wasn't part of the buffet?"

She chuckled, tucking her hair beneath her ear, "No, Roger." Jessica shook her head. Roger could be so…

But he was staring at her, smiling. Not happy-euphoric-Roger-grin. It was a smile of quiet contentment. As though she had just made his day.

"I missed your laugh," he simply said.

Jessica laughed again, feeling light. How could she even stop it? It's Roger.

"'Scuse me, y'all done? Yer blocking the damn door," a gratey voice spoke.

Poppins peeked over the pram she was pushing. Smoke wafted from the inside before Herman leaned forward, stogie in hand.

"Morning, Poppins! Morning, Herman!" Roger chirped, opening the door to the set.

"Morning yourself," the pseudo baby grumbled as Poppins rolled the pram in…

...to pandemonium.

People were running everywhere. There was an increase rush from the usual rush of their crew. The director was yelling at everyone. Sparks flew from afar.

"What the..."

Herman jumped out of his pram. He calmly looked at the chaotic scenario. "Whose turn is it?"

Roger cringed upon hearing a crash that sounds suspiciously like a new equipment. "Yours."

"'Kay" was the offhand reply.

Drawing a deep breath, the "Baby" calmly strode forward. "Son of a bitch! What the hell is happening in here?!"

"Herman!" Roger called back exasperatedly. As Herman continued to spew the song of the swearing sailors, Jessica raised a brow at Roger.

"Only one of us _th_ can lose it at a time," he said as though that explained everything. He rushed after Herman as the "baby" was gathering steam.

When Herman was able to get the director's attention, Raul explained that they were having some technical problems.

"Well, we can't have that!" Herman snapped, "How are we-"

"How can we help, Raul?" Roger spoke up, his tail swishing earnestly.

Everyone within hearing range froze. Probably from visions of screaming people and the roof being blown off the building.

"Roger, just stay outside while we tackle this problem," the director said, already shooing him away.

 **XOXOXO**

Jessica was more than content to wait in Roger's trailer. Roger, however, was pacing back and forth his living room.

"I still don't get why I can't help. I can get shocked but I can just shake it off!" he exclaimed.

"They're professionals," she replied. "Do you want to continue your story?"

Roger beamed.

 **XOXOXO**

 _Post-war, 1945…_

Wile sighed, rubbing his temple. In front of him was a drawer board. He sat on his drawing stool, thoughtfully rubbing the tip of the chalkstick on his chin.

If Roger's body behaves the same way as a human, then it would take 3 to 4 weeks to even see improvements in Roger's body. And even if they physically condition him, there is no way of telling if his body would be able to endure an anvil's fall.

Would improving Roger's physical condition be a waste of time?

His brows furrowed. His chin became whiter and whiter as the chalkstick stroke and stroke-

SLAM!

He whipped his head around. "Roger?" he called out, standing up and walking out of the Viewing Room/Library/Study quarter of the warehouse.

Roger was leaning against the door. His eyes are humanly wide, his chest heaving as his thumb made sure the door was locked.

"Is there something wrong?" the coyote asked. He had taught Roger on the basics of crossing toon roads: 1.) Never trust an empty road. 2.) Always wait for the traffic signals to go green. Even the laws of toon physics follow them. 3.) Always cross in the pedestrian lane.

Roger wheezed, one of his overall straps slipping off his shoulder. His limp body slid down against the door and into the floor.

"Jeepers! How are you toons still alive?!" he exclaimed.

Wile blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I went to a construction site to look for a job! And toons have been falling off the ledge with no harness _th_ es _th_!"

He ambled, waving his arms at the logic of his encounters.

"I went to an ad that was looking for clock cleaners and I saw a dog person standing on the giant minute hand that was _th_ still ticking! And no, he didn't even have a helmet!"

Wiley checked his memories. That was probably Goofy. But he wasn't the only anthropomorphic dog in town..

"Then I vis _th_ it a help wanted ad in a bar but the patrons were bouncing around! Like rubber balls! In a bar fight! It's not even noon!"

The coyote startled when Roger grabbed him by the shoulders. The rabbit leaned close, his eyes, baffled but fervored.

"Wiley, I need find my parents _th_! The s _th_ ooner I can survive this -this town that I really don't understand, the better!"

"Roger..."

The rabbit's forehead wrinkled. Shouldn't Wiley be motivated by his motivation? But the coyote just sighed, looking back at his drawing board.

"It would take about 3 to 4 weeks to see signs of your physical conditioning. And even if you have improved in that aspect… it might not be enough to make you toon."

"Then let's find out!" Roger cried, already running to the Testing Site. "By the way, your chin is white!"

"Roger, wait!" Wile yelled after him. But then he stopped, sighing. He was planning to plan a better theory to test. But then, that could wait.

 **XOXOXO**

 _Back to the present..._

"I can't believe they've documented your every struggle."

Jessica flipped page after page of the scrapbook. There was a photo of Roger struggling a push-up. A photo of Roger's contorted face with dumbbells. A photo of whoozy rabbit flip-flopping or probably trying to run, his tongue hanging out.

Said rabbit rolled his eyes. "It was _th_ S _th_ ylvester's idea. Wiley and I decided that while I exercis _th_ e, he'd coming up with a better theory to make me toon."

"So you just worked out? For three weeks?"

He shook his head. "It really tickled my curiosity when I started thinking 'bout it. How do they toon?"

 **XOXOXO**

 _Post-war, 1945…_

An exhale slowly whooshed out of his lips, his chest deflating. Roger was perched on a brick wall. Below him, nothing but the welcoming wooden floor.

 _"You're improving, lad," Wile said, clicking his stopwatch._

 _Roger wheezed, sweat trickling down his nose as he rested his hands on his knees._

 _"Wile?"_

 _"Hmm?" he asked, his eyes on his notes as he scribbled something._

 _"How do you toon?"_

 _Wile looked up. "What do you mean, Roger?"_

 _Roger waved his hand, still breathing hard. "How do you just… make it happen?"_

 _"Well," he tucked his clipboard under his arm, his scraggly tail swishing in thought. "_ Cogito ergo sum. _"_

 _"Are you okay?"_

 _"I think, therefore, I am," Wile explained. "I know I'm thought and thought is energy. And energy cannot be destroyed."_

 _He scratched his ear before it flipped up straight again. "So you mean, that because you know you can't be hurt, you can do it?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _Roger looked down on his fist._ I can't be destroyed, _he repeated to himself._

 _But it felt as credible as "I can swallow a baby rattle and make it shake by doing the Cucuracha."_

Roger frowned. Wiley is a genius with blueprint diagrams and eloquence that he couldn't par. So he had opted for someone who wasn't so technical.

 _"Oh boy! Just wait till you see your face when you finished the last lap!" Sylvester laughed, holding a portable camera._

 _Roger flopped on the ground. His ears are even flat against the wooden floor. He heard the camera flashed again._

 _"Syl? How do you toon?"_

 _"How do I what? You mean doing stuff you can't do yet?" the cat asked frankly. Sylvester paid him no mind as he checked the film inside the camera._

 _"Yes_ th _."_

 _"How can I say it?" He shrugged. "I'm stretchy! I'm flexible!" he said, twisting around his waist, that he looked like a wringed towel. He was suddenly in the air as his body whirled to normal. "That I just do it!"_

 _Roger nodded thoughtfully._ Feeling flexible.

 _"Try licking your elbow," the cat suggested._

 _Hesitantly, he propped up his elbow close to his face with one hand. His neck craned as his tongue extended out-_

 _He was momentarily blinded by a camera flash._

 _"S_ th _lvester!"_

Roger rolled his eyes. If Wile uses his brains, Sylvester feels it in his body, then what was he supposed to do? He then had taken the opportunity to ask Porky when he visited.

 _"How I te-ta-toon?" Porky asked._

 _Roger nodded._

 _The pig put his hand in his chin. "Hmm… interesting question. It just ah he-hi-h-happens! But!" he interjected when he saw Roger dejected, "It just hi-he-happens around me, that it makes sense. Just observe!"_

If Porky's advice is correct then he should be able to toon in no time. If toons can do it, so can he. Right?

But then a surprise visitor had given him a surprising thought.

 _Roger grunted. He was lying on a bench, pressing a barbell away from him._

 _"1...2...3...4..." he squinted his eyes as his arms wavered._

 _"Lick the ketchup off the floor!"_

 _"Wha-" his slick hands scrambled to control his lift. He looked up, only to see Daffy sitting on the bar of the barbell as though it was a benchpark of some sort._

 _Daffy sat with his legs crossed, his back a graceful arch. His eyes slowly batted at him. "Hello -aaugh!"_

 _Roger had suddenly set the barbell on its holder. He had almost dropped it on his neck, that dangerous duck!_

 _"Daffy," he said, sitting up and standing. "What're you doing here?"_

 _The duck suddenly clasped his chest. "The perssssss_ ttttthhhh _onal pain! The sssssss_ tttthhh _uffering!" he cried, draping himself all over the rabbit. But then he was suddenly dabbing Roger with a towel. 'Aside from your greeting, Sylvester been saying you're asking around on how we toon."_

 _Roger waved his arms away from the prodding fabric. "Yeah, I-"_

 _"Well, you've come to the right person! The head honcho! The master of mastery!" Daffy cried, now having the towel around Roger's neck as he pulled it intervally on both ends._

 _"But I didn't-"_

 _Daffy suddenly disappeared. Before Roger could look around, there was a snapping sound. Roger gasped, his backside stinging from a towel rat tail lash._

 _"Ow! Daffy-"_

 _Roger suddenly felt himself being twirled around until he was staring at sudden obsidian eyes. "Yer a diff'rent case from the rest of us."_

 _Roger blinked, unable to back away from Daffy's too-close-for-comfort eyes. But then he saw it. His reflection in his dark-ink pupils._

 _"Something is holding you back," his bill said solemnly, held by one feathered hand._

 _Roger startled with a yell._

He ran his hand over his hair and rabbit ears. Something was holding him back? That's ridiculous! He was committed to tooning already!

Hopping down, he landed with a thump. He walked away until he was a good distance from the brick wall itself.

Roger lied down on the floor, spread-eagled. Flashes of Merrie Melodies and Looney Tunes sped through his mind.

 _Whatever comes up must go down_

His closed eyes frowned, seeing Daffy up in the air even when he stopped flapping his wings.

 _No one blurs when they run around the town_

Patient Porky pursued by a crazy cat doctor, were nothing but paint smears as they ran out of the hospital.

 _No living thing can bounce like a ball_

Roger clutched his ears. A cat kicked away so forcibly, he bounced on his rump several times before landing somewhere.

 _No living thing can survive a fall_

An anvil and a cat fell down on the ground so hard, their hole sucked in nearby bushes and rocks. A fellow cat just peeled him off the anvil and whipped him like a cloth back to normal.

 _No big thing can fit in small_

A pint-sized cowboy pulling out a club twice his size out of his pants.

 _It will hurt when you run on a wall_

1944, Draftee Duck. Daffy slamming against the wall so hard, he created a duck-shaped hole and continued running.

Blue eyes snapped open from the memories. Heart pounding, he faced the wall. His knees crouched down on a runner's position.

 _"All of these are impossible!"_ he whispered.

 **XOXOXO**

 _Present day..._

"You ran into a wall," Jessica said.

"Yes _th._ "

"Did it work?"

"... No."

"That was a terrible idea."

 **XOXOXO**

 _Post-war, 1945_

"That was a terrible idea."

Wiley put a bag of ice on Roger's forehead. There was a slightly raised bump on it that was dark pink beneath his white fur.

"I have ta try!" Roger exclaimed. Cuts and bruises on his arms and legs had also been treated. Wiley never imagined in a million years that he would one day use his first aid kit.

"Roger," Wiley sighed, putting away the antiseptic. "I know you want to meet your real parents so badly. But let's try to meet them in one piece."

He muttered to himself as he packed away his first aid kit. What was that Daffy Duck thinking, really? Giving him that advice?

"But something weird happened when I ran into the wall."

The coyote looked up. Roger was frowning in thought.

"Before I crashed in it, I think I remembered something."

"What did you remember?"

Roger covered his already closed eyes. "A fence. Crashing through it. I think… screams? I dunno. I must've been imagining it."

Wiley's tail twitched. A possible trauma perhaps?

"But I don't remember anything like that before!" Roger exclaimed. "Was my mind making it up?"

"Probably," Wiley slowly answered. Maybe something _is_ holding Roger back.

"There is _th_ another thing."

Roger's was staring at his hands was scrunching and un-scrunching the pants of his overalls.

"I -I just remember it now. When I was _th_ a kid, there is _th_ a s _th_ ong that I used to s _th_ ing all the time."

His hands gripped the fabric tighter. Then he sang the words.

After he was done, Wiley didn't say anything for a while.

"That's unlike any nursery rhyme I've heard."

Something changed in Roger's eyes as though Wiley just confirmed his suspicions.

"Roger, I-"

"It's okay, Wiley," Roger interrupted. "I'm sure ma parents did it for a good reas _th_ on."

"It may not only be that," Wiley tried to reassure, tried. "You grew up in an environment with humans only… and farm animals."

"Yeah..." Roger turned away. "I think I'm going to clean something."

Wiley watched his retreating back. He let out a sigh. After a moment's thought, he whipped out his clipboard and wrote:

 _Possible factors to RR's case:_

 _1\. Environment_

 _2\. Influenced mental suppression (?)_

 **XOXOXO**

 _Back to the present…_

Herman grumbled, tossing to his side in the crib. A crib, mind you, because it's the only bed that fits an old man his size.

He finally sat up. The pseudo-infant was trying to take a nap. But his body refuses to let him sleep.

Herman cursed, ambling out of the crib. No filming yet and he's too awake to laze around. Now where did he put he put his Playboy magazines again?

He went over to the warm pail that was housing bottles of milk. Some dolt once called him out for it and Herman uppercut him in the balls. His height do have its advantages.

Uncapping the bottle, he sucked at its plastic nipple. A manly bullfrog belch later, he wiped the corner of his mouth.

Widely drawn eyes glanced at the closed window. The window that was facing Roger's trailer. He frowned, remembering their last private conversation.

 _"Being around you the whole time? She's trying to seduce you."_

 _Silence followed his words as Roger stared at him._

 _"AHAHAHAHA! HEE! WHOO! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"_

 _Before Herman could register what happened, Roger was already rolling on the floor and clutching his stomach._

 _"JEEPERS! I'm crying! I'm actually crying!" the rabbit exclaimed, his ears rubbing the tears off his face while his stomach spasmed with cacaphonic cachinnation._

 _Herman straightened up indignantly. "What the hell is wrong with ya? I'm serious!"_

 _Roger looked winded out as he gasped for breath. "Herman..."_

 _Herman's temper raised several notches when Roger looked at him as though he had just said something endearingly silly. "Jessica isn't like that," Roger said, dusting himself as he stood up._

 _Herman narrowed his eyes. "Jessica may not be. But women would see you as a challenge. A guy who doesn't stare at her cleavage? Guys like that are like a sport to them!"_

 _Herman's fists clenched as Roger fell down on his knees, clutching his splitting stomach. With a thud, he fell down on the floor at his side, still hollering with uncontrollable laughter._

 _"Darn it, Herman!" –wheeze, gasp "-I was_ th _just recovering and then you –AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"_

 _The rabbit rolled on his stomach, pounding the floor as though to relieve the ridiculousness that had possessed his body._

 _"Jessica –me –s_ th _educe? AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I can't take it anymore! WHOOOHAHAHAHAHA!"_

 _Tears stream down at his face as he curled on the floor holding his tortured abdomen. For outsiders, it must have looked like Herman had done something terribly funny for Roger to be reduced into a wheezing heap. However, Herman was anything but amused._

 _Roger must have noticed it because he started taking deep breaths._

 _"Herman, I'm s_ th _orry about that. But Jessica's one of the most decent people I know," he patted his friend on the back. "Just give her a chance."_

Herman ambled out of his trailer with his fat baby legs. _Give her a chance, my foot,_ he thought as he banged on Roger's door.

A white rabbit with an eternally goofy face opened it. "Hiya Herman!"

Herman barged in. The scantily dressed redhead was on Roger's sofa. The scrapbook was open on her lap.

"I was _th_ just telling Jessica about the yester-years _th_!"

Unseen by Roger, Herman frowned and Jessica low-key glared back. Roger shouldn't be sharing his past with this wench. Much less, his present time.

"Oh really?" Herman drawled, settling himself in an armchair from the sofa. A perfect spot to simply… observe. "That's a nice way of _getting to know each other._ "

Jessica simply flipped her hair, her plump lips coldly curled in an apathetic pout. Roger appeared before him.

"Yeah! We're in the part after I had been working out for three weeks!"

Jessica's eyes quirked with (rather smug) amusement when the condescending stare of the little satyromaniac vanished.

"Oh shit. Not that."

 **XOXOXO**

 **Author's Note:**

1\. Yes, Herman and Jessica thinks the other one is a bad influence to Roger. It would be awhile before they find a middle ground… or a truce.

2\. What do you think Roger remembered?

3\. If you haven't watched Roger Rabbit's cartoon shorts, he did swallowed a rattle and rattled it by doing some dance moves.

4\. Roger's memories are based on the Looney Tunes shorts he saw with Wiley:

a. 1939, Wise Quacks: His closed eyes frowned, seeing Daffy up in the air even when he stopped flapping his wings.

b. 1930, Patient Porky: Patient Porky pursued by a crazy cat doctor, were nothing but paint smears as they ran out of the hospital.

c. 1944, Odor-able Kitty: A cat kicked away so forcibly, he bounced on his rump several times before landing somewhere.

d. 1942, A Tale of Two Kitties: An anvil and a cat fell down on the ground so hard, their hole sucked in nearby bushes and rocks. A fellow cat just peeled him off the anvil and whipped him like a cloth back to normal.

e. 1944, Buckaroo Bugs: A pint-sized cowboy pulling out a club twice his size out of his pants.

f. 1944, Draftee Duck. Daffy slamming against the wall so hard, he created a duck-shaped hole and continued running.


	11. Wiley: Wingman of the Year

**Chapter 8: Wiley, Wingman of the Year**

 _Post-war, 1945..._

Back in the farm, Roger would hear the occasional chirp of the birds. Maybe a rustle of leaves. A flash or two of a critter running.

But in ToonTown's park, it's not only the deers that were prancing across meadows.

A womanly tree danced, swaying the leaves at the end of her branches like dancing fans. The woman-tree swayed her "hips", encircled by unrooted twirling flowers. Another tree had constructed a harp made from vines, playing for the tree-woman. Birds blend their songs to the music, perched on another tree that was swaying a baton.

Roger kept rubbing his eyes.

Squirrels flirting with each other, hiding behind their tails. Chipmunks scampering from tree hole to burrows. And if his ears weren't being deluded, he could swear the birds were singing symphonies with the pillowy clouds above them.

"Too sunny for my sore eyes, but it's too easy to like this place," Wiley remarked.

"Wiley? Why are we here again?"

"A break," he replied. The coyote walked, his straight back and formal walk contrasting the scruffiness of his coat. He furtively casted a glance at Roger.

After the uncomfortable discovery that his parents had a hand in blocking off a part of him, Wiley was hoping the cheeriness of the park would infuse with Roger. The rabbit looked around in wonder. Distracted, at least. Wiley swished the park's bench with his tail before sitting on it.

Roger hesitated, glancing at his rear where his cottontail lay exposed. Lowering his backside, he grunted, flexing the little tail to swish the bench's surface.

Wiley watched him with mild amusement. "I assume that was your first time?"

"It's not like there's a hole in my pants back before," Roger said. "I've been wearing trousers wrong as a… as a toon the whole time!"

The coyote raised a brow at the hesitance at his certain words. "We've been approaching your case wrong for the last three weeks." He rested his elbows on the park's bench, steepling his fingers. "I thought the problem is your body. But it seems like the real problem is your head."

"Wiley!"

Said name rolled his eyes. "What I mean is, your difficulty in tooning is in the mind."

"S _th_ o… what are we going to try now?"

Wiley closed his eyes, leaning back.

"Psychological conditioning calls for this situation. Unfortunately we can't."

Roger wondered if he was getting annoying to Wiley for asking about half of what he says. "Psycho-gena-hair-conditioner-what?"

"It's when we change a response to a stimulus." Wiley stretched before draping backwards, eyes to the sky. "Let's say you see a painting you like. That's the stimulus. So your response?" He stretched out his arm. "You give a thumbs-up."

Roger mimicked him, leaning over the bench's backrest, he gave a thumbs-up to the sky.

"Only, in your case, you can't straighten your thumb. That's your problem with tooning." Wiley said, his thumb crooked and fighting to straighten.

Roger looked at his own struggling thumb in wonder. "Wow, Wiley, Sylvester may say you spout off scientific terms to sound scientifically smart and mysterious _th_. But I think you're the real deal!"

Slitted yellow eyes suddenly turned to him. "He doubts my genius?"

Roger suddenly grabbed his mouth as though the words just slipped. "Ehe… hehe..."

Wiley straightened up in his seat. "Never mind that silly cat. There is another reason why we're here."

"What-" something caught his eye.

All the air seemed to rushed into Roger's lungs. It's _her_.

"Oh look, she's here now," Wile said, waving a hand.

" _Hiyeerrr_?" Roger croaked, the very air was choking him. Was it possible for sunlight to sparkle on a being? This had to be a living dream. _She_ had to be a living dream.

 **XOXOXOX**

 _Present…_

Herman ducked, giving a loooong dry hurl inside a barfbag.

"Herman, I was just describing what I _had_ felt that day," Roger said, placing his hands on his hips.

The pseudo-infant wiped his mouth, tossing the bag in a wastebasket. "You're such a virgin."

"Okay."

 **XOXOXOX**

 _Post-war, 1945..._

"Yes, she's the colleague that we are meeting right now," Wiley said, stopping his waving when Cheri found them. Someone grasped him in the shoulder and he was suddenly nose to nose with a wide-eyed Roger.

"You didn't say we were going to meet _her_!" he rasped.

Wiley leaned back, frowning. "Roger, you're acting strange." Then his eyes widened in understanding. "I get it. You're nervous about meeting a rabbit of your kind for the first time, isn't it?" He reassuringly clapped the rabbit's shoulder. "Don't worry, chap. I'll handle the talking. Just answer 'yes' or 'no'."

Roger turned his head back at the obviously feminine hare. The air around her was still twinkling.

" _Bonjour_ , Wiley," her sweet, _sweet_ voice said. Roger gulped. She turned her head to him. "And you must be..."'

"Y-yes _th_ ," he whispered, wishing she didn't heard his lisp.

Wiley facepalmed. "Yes, good morning, Cheri. This is Roger. He's new in ToonTown and well, I think you could help him-"

Wiley talked on. But Roger could barely hear him. Her mere presence was making anything insignificant. Like a madonna that blesses with milk and honey. Or a nymph whose presence inspire spring on earth. Or simply the most beautiful rabbit girl in the-

"Poor dear! You're looking for your parents?" the rabbit girl exclaimed, her dark eyes framed with the thickest lashes-

He blinked at the silence, realizing they were waiting for a response. "Y-yeah..." There that's better. No lisp.

Cheri stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. All the air rushed out of his lungs. Is this dying? Is this heaven? Had he accomplished a goal he never thought he would aspire for and was now dying in peace?

 **XOXOXOX**

 _Present…_

Herman rolled his eyes so much, they flipped inside his skull. "Oh my gawd, kill me now." Why oh why did he entered his trailer at the wrong time?

"Toons can't be killed, Herman, you know that," Roger replied, looking confused.

 **XOXOXOX**

 _Post-war, 1945…_

"A few weeks from now, I'll be attending a family reunion. Us rabbit toons consider the whole rabbit family as family," she said. "Someone might know something."

Roger's brain was trying to start. Trying. What was she saying again?

She let go of his shoulder. Roger exhaled a breath he didn't remember holding.

"Thanks, Cheri," the coyote said. "Roger here had been determined enough to ran into a wall to find them."

Cheri laughed. Roger rested his elbows on the table, cupping his face to stare at her. "It's good to see you too, Wile. Oh and Roger?"

Roger sat up straight attentively. Cheri offered him the cutest smile that dazzled his eyes too brightly; they seemed to burst and deafen his eardrums in the inside.

"Come with me to the family reunion, okay?" she said with a wave before walking away. "There would be a lot of rabbits there!" Her upside-down ears fluttered like long hair behind her.

Wiley sighed, scratching his ears. That was one problem eased. But what about Roger's metaphorical crooked thumb? His gears grind.

The trees and critters play their symphonies as he pondered their next step.

Then a new music came.

Wiley startled. It's too near… too unfamiliar to the park… upbeat….piano?

He whipped his head around.

Roger was standing there, the most faraway dazed eyes staring at the direction Cheri had disappeared.

It was coming from Roger himself.

The coyote grabbed Roger and pressed his ear against the rabbit's chest. His whole body was vibrating with the tune. Wile stepped back in surprise and saw Roger still looking far away as he sang softly in wondrous whisper.

 _"Ain't she sweet? See her walking down the street."_

 **XOXOXOX**

 _Present…_

Herman rolled his eyes. "And that's how Roger got his first ere-"

"Herman!"

"Carry on."

 **XOXOXOX**

 _Post-war, 1945…_

Musik. A toon's slang for symphokinesis. Wiley looked down on his notes. Roger's ability to emulate music from himself was suddenly triggered a while ago. An incident that happened after meeting his friend and colleague, Cheri Cottontail.

Wiley had been euphoric. A serendipitous lead. A lead, unfortunately, that isn't making any sense. For now.

SLAM!

"'Morning, Wiley!" Sylvester voice could be heard from the study.

Wiley rolled his eyes. He had bought locks that couldn't be picked by a cat's tail. Apparently, they're not as advertised. He strode out of the study.

The black and white cat was once again, dragging poor Porky. He went straight to the kitchen and Wiley followed suit, wondering why wasn't he surprised.

"So how's Roger do- what is that?"

The sappiest saccharine music played in the air. Sylvester felt his shoulders tensing with every cringe of every second.

" _Da-dum, da-da-da-da-da-da-da da-dum, da-dum!_ "

Roger appeared, observable to be in a good mood from fifty miles away. He stepped with the music, ambling into the kitchen.

" _Da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da, why haven't I told you? Oh baby-_ "

Sylvester's jaw fell on the floor. So did Porky's.

" _I've told every little star, just how sweet I think you are-"_

Roger's ears waved with the beat. He opened the fridge, unmindful of the guests, and took out a pitcher of water.

" _Why haven't I, I told you?_ "

"Did you lobotomize him?" Sylvester asked in horror.

"No."

Roger now began to gargle through the lyrics, refusing to swallow the water before the song ended.

"He met Cheri and was suddenly like this."

Sylvester turned his head to Roger again. Slack hands let go of Porky.

"BEAT ME DADDY EIGHT TO THE BAR! Roger wants to whoopee with a cookie!"

The music stopped with a screech. Roger suddenly spurt out the water, choking.

"Sylvester!" Porky exclaimed. "R-really!"

Wiley began to thump Roger on the back. "Honestly, there's no need to be so lewd. Roger here is just carrying a torch for her."

"The way loverboy's acting? That's not a torch, buster!" Sylvester slung an arm around Roger's shoulders. He shook the still recovering rabbit. "Roger's carrying a burning bush, a raging inferno, a field on FIRE! "

The rabbit hacked, trying to get the water out of the wrong pipe.

"What I don't understand," Wiley said, crossing his arms, "is why?"

"Sss _th_ uffering succotash, Wiley! Will you get out of your brain and just look at a dame for once?"

The coyote rolled his eyes. "Not that, you git. Why is his…" his arm gesticulated, trying to find the proper term, "infatuation causing his symphokinesis?"

Porky shrugged. "When we're si-se-sad, we turn blue. When we're mi-uh-me-uh, dangit, angry, steam can come out of our ears."

"But Roger experiences emotions everyday. It's not like he's a robot."

Sylvester turned to the rabbit. "Roger, have you ever been in love before?"

Roger gasped, clearing his harshed throat. "I -I never felt this way with anyone before."

The cat clasped his hands together. "Aaaw… Roger. So honest. So pure." He began to pull a magazine out behind his back. "He hadn't discovered Play-"

"Y-you put that back where it belongs!" Porky yelled, pushing it back from wherever the cat was hiding it.

Wiley massaged his temple before shaking his head. "Oh, Roger, you're so unpredictable," he said with a smile. He straightened up, putting his hands on his hips. "We'll figure you out yet. Can you do it again?"

"Okay," Roger closed his eyes.

Silence.

His brows furrowed, thinking of "Every Little Star".

Nothing.

He grunted.

Sylvester broke the monotony with a cough.

Roger's body shook with effort.

 _Poot._

"Oh look! He did it!"

"That was a fart, Syl."

Roger opened his eyes, looking slightly bewildered. "I can't do it! It was happening before!"

"I'm afraid about this," Wiley sighed. "Symphokinsesis is rare. But the only one known to control it is Popeye. And he can only control his theme song. As a fellow colleague, maybe Cheri could shed some light-"

"No!" Roger cried.

The coyote raised a brow. "And why not?"

Roger's eyes flickered to the side and back as he wringed his hands. "I..."

"Aaaaaw, he's shy!" Sylvester said.

He looked down on his fiddling hands. "I want to get to know her more before I…"

"Young love," Porky remarked with a chuckle.

Wiley stared at him.

"Is there another way?" Roger asked lamely.

"There is," Wiley finally said, his gears grinding. Calculating, yellow eyes studied him.. "As my research assistant, you're going to report your other tooning abilities."

"But I can't-"

He carefully watched Roger, an idea forming. "By spending time with Cheri."

"Wha-?"

"She needed help in the library and I'm planning to lend you to her."

Roger's eyes widened. Then he collapsed.

"Roger!"

"I'm fine! I- I suddenly felt weak in the knees" he tried to stand. His legs won't cooperate..

"Roger, your knees _th_."

Roger looked down. His legs were folded. Too folded. He tried to push himself up. But fell back, his legs wobbling at the impact… boneless.

"Aaaauggh!"

"Roger!"

The rabbit began to flail around. Sylvester and Porky grabbed both of his arms and held him up.

"My legs! What happened to my legs?!" he cried. He tried to move his legs. They dangled and waved like noodles.

Only Wiley didn't appear surprised. He rubbed his chin. "As confirmed, your feelings related to her triggers your tooning. But why?"

"How're we going to get them back?" a curious Sylvester asked as Roger began to hyperventilate.

The coyote paused. His eyes bulged. "I haven't thought this far."

Roger must've fainted because he was suddenly opening his eyes. A hand kept slapping his jaw.

"Wuh-Wu-Wiley! Stop taking n-n-no- quit it!"

The first thing he saw was Porky's hooved feet and Sylvester's foot.

Sylvester's foot?

His gaze followed up his leg to realize that Sylvester and Porky were still holding him by the arms. And the hand that kept slapping him was Sylvester's _other_ foot.

"I'm awake!" Roger yelled, trying to brush him off. He yelped as they accidentally dropped him.

This must be what jelly felt like when it wobbles. The whole world shook up and down as he landed on his rubbered rump.

The hyperventilating was back again.

Roger gasped for air. How will he walk? How will he get breakfast? How will he put on pants?!

"Roger!"

Wiley was suddenly beside him. "Inhale..."

Roger obeyed, his chest rising.

"Exhale. Slowly."

The rabbit let it all out in pursed lips. Tension loosened its grasp slowly as Roger breathed again.

"Jeepers," Roger whispered, finally looking at his noodle legs spread out before him. He grasped his shin. It drooped like an empty hose. He grabbed the other one. He shook them with both hands. His feet flopped about. "What happened?"

"Suddenly feeling weak is a natural for lovestruck toons _th_!" Sylvester said. "Hooray, Roger!"

"Weak in the knees..." Wiley digested, rubbing his chin. He sighed. "I'll need to discuss your feelings with Cheri if we want you to get your legs back-"

Roger froze, heart dipping, skipping a few beats, at her possible reaction. "But, Wiley-" He paused. He look back at his hands that are still holding his legs. Squeezed them. He could feel bone and muscle again.

"Unb-b-be- wow," Porky commented as Roger lifted his leg, his knee jutting out.

"Roger, what did you feel when I said I want to discuss your feelings with her to get your legs back?" Wiley asked, his tone calm but his eyes intense.

"I..." Roger shook his head. "...for a moment, I," A disbelieving laugh came out of his mouth. "I was _th_ scared-" his eyes widened in realization. "I was _th_ scared stiff."

 **XOXOXOX**

 _Present…_

Nearly any toon clothes she wore would instantly cling around her form.

Jessica unbuttoned the police jacket she had worn for the filming. Wide at the bust, cinched at the waist; it suddenly became normally proportioned as soon as she took it off.

She put on her red strapless dress. The top molded to her breasts and the skirt clung at her hips like an intimate lover.

Hair brushed and makeup checked, she stepped out of the dressing room. Roger and the others haven't finished filming yet. She walked back to the set to see car after car chucked into Roger's head. Pretty soon, he was underneath a pile of automobiles.

"Baby Herman! I'll save ya!" he yelled, rolling onwards, as flat as a pancake.

She wanted to stay. But she was hired to sing in some event in the west side of ToonTown and she can't be late.

Outside the building. The sun blazed hot. She walked towards the exit. A blue butterfly fluttered. Followed by a yellow. Then pink.

" _Bonjour_ , Jessica," Cheri said, her upside-down ears flowing behind her.

Jessica gave her a smile and a wave as they walked past each other.

She looked back, watching the rabbit girl go inside the building. Into the same corridor that leads to the set.

A purple gloved hand clenched the straps of her purse.

 **XOXOXOX**

 _Post-war, 1945…_

Wiley was studiously bent over a file titled "R.R. Case Study". His brows furrowed. His pencil scratched against paper.

 **Weakness of knees = rubber legs = counteracted by scared stiffness =** **possibly** **counteracted by distracting change of sensation of his lower extremities (?)**

He scratched his head with the erasing end of his pencil. Is this really the chain of events?

There was a knock. Wiley looked up to see Roger standing in the doorway. The rabbit stood for a moment, rubbing the back of his head, looking anywhere but him.

"W-Wiley, am I still going to be lend to her?"

Wiley raised his brow at his choice of words. But the rabbit doesn't look like he mind at all. "Of course. I'll be dropping you off to the library on the way."

Roger smiled, happy. "Oh… okay."

"Just record down every tooning that would occur with you tomorrow. We'll be needing that data."

"Okay," was his dreamy reply.

Wiley opened his mouth to counsel Roger about his state. He barely even know his colleague. But he decided against it.

Roger left, practically floating. Wiley leapt to measure the distance between his feet and the floor. Roger barely heard the crash that followed.

The coyote straightened up, ribs sore but distance attained. He went back to his notes. Adding the new data and his other observations for that day. Pretty soon, he was in his own world.

Mellow notes of _Ain't She Sweet_ played in the air. The coyote glanced at the phonograph, not a record was playing in it. He rolled his eyes as he heard Roger sing along. He bent down to continue with his notes.

 **XOXOXOX**

 **Author's Notes** :

To get the feel of Roger's moods, listen to the following recordings:

Ain't She Sweet by Annette Hanshaw, 1927

Every Little Star published in 1932 but listen to Linda Scott's version. I voted it the sweetest, cheesiest of the song ever.

It's kind of sad when no one responds after a chapter comes out. To be honest, I feel like I'm just throwing my writing to a dark hole. Can you also review and tell me what you think?


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